Where Do I Go From Here?
by The Ivory Raven
Summary: After a difficult summer, Harry returns to Hogwarts and keeps his homelife a secret. But the new DADA professor leaves him with an even bigger secret to hide. How will he cope, and what does Snape have to do with it all? Warning:abuse, cutting, depression
1. Falling, Falling, Falling

**Disclaimer:**Boy, do I wish I owned Harry Potter and his friends…But, alas, I may only borrow them for a while.

**Warning:** This story will contain themes of abuse, cutting, and depression.

**A/N**: This story starts during the summer after Harry's fifth year, about two weeks after he returned to the Dursley's home. This story will be compliant with books 1 through 5.

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Where Do I Go From Here?

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Chap. 1 Falling, Falling, Falling

The sun beat down hot and heavy over the identical rows of houses and manicured lawns of Privet Drive, causing most people living there to seek shelter indoors to escape the heat. Yet, there was someone on that street who was out and about. The neighbors thought it strange that anyone would willingly be out doing their gardening now, rather than wait until the cooler temperatures of the evening. But Harry Potter of number 4 Privet Drive was indeed outside. He was on his hands and knees in the front yard, attempting to remove the weeds from the flowerbeds as quickly as possible. He knew that if he did not hurry, he would miss lunch yet again, and his empty stomach growled in protest at the thought.

Rising from his stooped over position by the rose bushes, Harry wiped one of the sleeves from the over-sized shirt he was wearing over his face, trying to catch the sweat-drops before they fell onto the lenses of his glasses. He wanted desperately to just remove the baggy shirt in order to allow some of the soft wind that ruffled his hair to blow across his sweaty back, but he knew he could not do that. Doing something like that would allow the neighbors to see things that the Dursleys had strictly warned Harry not to show. He knew why, of course. It would have been quite difficult to explain away the bruises and such that marred his skin, leaving his torso an assortment of shades, ranging from the almost healed spots of yellow, to the still-swollen areas of deep purple.

Releasing a weary sigh, Harry pulled the last weed up, gathered the gardening supplies, and headed for the back door, knowing his Aunt would never allow him passage through by way of the front entrance. He poked just his head inside and called out.

"Aunt Petunia, I'm done."

She turned from where she was standing at the kitchen counter, threw a disgusted look at her nephew and approached him, letting her upper lip curl northward as if she smelled something foul.

"You're covered in filth!"

Harry looked down and was surprised to see how much dirt had managed to stick to his clothing, especially the knees of his trousers, which were barely visible beneath the layer of soil and bits of grass that clung there. He cast his eyes to the floor and spoke softly.

"Um, sorry, Aunt Petunia."

" 'Sorry' won't get your clothes clean, boy. Go stand at the bottom of the steps." She bustled forward and Harry scurried down to the bottom step, standing still with his head bowed when he got there. Yes, he knew this routine well. She was going to hose him off again, as if he were nothing more than an errant dog that had rolled in the mud. _Yeah, _Harry's mind ridiculed him, _just like a dog. _Slowly, Harry's brow drew down in a furrow of remorse as he suddenly thought of his godfather. Giving his head a shake in an attempt to clear the disheartening thoughts, he tried to keep his mind on more pressing matters…like the hose that his Aunt was uncoiling from where it was sitting next to the spigot by the back door.

It wasn't that he minded the spray of cool water…in fact, he would welcome it quite readily today with as hot as he still was, it was just the manner in which his Aunt did it that irked him so. She seemed to take great pleasure on adjusting the hand-held spray nozzle on the end of the hose to the setting that caused the water to be shot with force from its tip, always being sure to 'accidentally' spray him in the face at least a few times. The action would typically knock his glasses from his face and leave red patches of skin behind that would sting for several hours after such harsh treatment, but he knew better than to complain. That would only make her mad, and he was desperate for a meal today.

The day before had been rough. To start with, his cousin Dudley had stolen his meager breakfast while he was getting himself a glass of water to wash it all down with. True, two pieces of dry toast could hardly seem appetizing, but hunger can make toast seem like a feast. Dudley had snatched the blackened bread from Harry's plate, purposely making sure that Harry could see him doing so. Harry had turned to his Aunt and Uncle hoping that they would do something about it, but they superciliously ignored the act of thievery by their beloved son and Harry was forced to watch with barely disguised contempt as Dudley broke the bread into crumbs, crunching the bigger bits between his thumb and forefinger until they were nothing more than dust.

The day seemed only to get worse from there. Harry had painted the fence as he was ordered to right after breakfast, but the rain that appeared shortly before lunch made all of his hard work fade away as the rainwater mingled with the still wet paint and dripped into the grass below in fat, white drops. The summer shower was brief and light, but it had reeked its havoc. Vernon was livid when he returned from work that day. With-holding Harry's dinner from him in punishment, he then gave the boy a good walloping. Unfortunately, the pitifully thin sandwich Harry had eaten for lunch that day barely staved off the hunger pains that were starting to plague him by that night. So, it was with a weakened body and a somber mood that he settled into bed early that evening, and he could not help the feeling of despondency that crept over him as he lay in the dark.

Now that it was the following day, he was desperate for sustenance; especially after the difficult morning he'd had. At the break of day, he had awoken to the sound of his Aunt's screeching, informing him to "Get your lazy butt out of bed and start breakfast!"

Harry had hurried as best he could, but half-way down the stairs, a dizzy spell brought him to his knees, almost causing him to fall the rest of the way down. As he sat panting and waiting for the dizziness to pass, his Aunt caught sight of him, her eyes narrowing and her mouth drawing into a straight line in her fury.

"You little good-for-nothing! Why are you lazing about when I gave you a job to do?"

Harry wanted so badly to defend himself, to tell her the truth, but years' worth of habits were ingrained into him and he merely hung his head and muttered out the expected words.

"Sorry, Aunt Petunia."

She stared at him as he slowly got to his feet, as if sizing him up, and when he walked past her she ground out a "Humph" and gave him a shove towards the kitchen. "Well, get going. We haven't got all day."

As Harry stumbled past the entry way that led to the living room, he could hear Dudley snickering at his misfortune and he tried his hardest to ignore it. When he entered the kitchen, Harry saw a carton of eggs and half a package of bacon sitting on the counter and could barely contain the groan that wanted to escape his throat. He knew it would take a long time to cook that much bacon in the small frying pan his Aunt always insisted he use. Oh, she had larger, nicer pans than the old cast iron type he was forced to use, but she had informed him that she 'will not have my good cookware defiled by the likes of you!'

Before long, the delicious aroma of sizzling bacon filled the house and the smell attracted the two largest family members like moths to a flame. Harry had just set the cooked bacon on the serving platter when the dish was ripped from his hand by Dudley's pudgy fingers. Harry's cousin had just sat down with his prize as Vernon Dursley made his way to the table, twitching his walrus-like mustache as he sniffed the air.

The man lumbered over to Harry's side and checked the toast that was still in the toaster, leaning over close to the counter where Harry stood, practically smashing the raven-haired youth against the front of the stove. He sniffed the air again and then made a growling noise low in his throat. Standing upright again, he snatched hold of the fabric that hung loose around the collar on the back of Harry's shirt and leaned his face in close, a look of pure loathing etched across his features.

"Did you burn the toast again, Boy? You remember what happened the last time you did that."

"N-no, Uncle Vernon, it's not burned," Harry stuttered out. Of course he remembered the last time. It may have been from the summer of last year, but how could he forget it? He saw a reminder of it every time he showered. Vernon had taken the metal spatula that Harry had been using to cook breakfast that morning and held it over the eye of the gas stove, letting the flames lick the metal surface until its color changed from the extreme heat. He had held Harry down and pressed the spatula against the boy's chest, leaving behind a burn that left a small grid shaped scar below his left nipple. Vernon's reasoning at the time was explained in a low voice full of menace as he lifted up Harry's shirt that day. "You burn my food, I burn you."

Harry couldn't stop the small shiver that raced down his spine as that particular memory assaulted his senses. As he pulled himself out of his morose thoughts, he glanced around to be sure the rest of his 'family' had not seen him phase out like that. The last thing he wanted was for them to think he was more of a freak than they considered him already.

By the time Harry finished cooking the last pan of eggs and bacon, the others had already eaten everything else he had cooked thus far, and Harry knew that it didn't look very promising that he would get anything to eat that morning…and he was right. No sooner had the serving dish been set back onto the table, than two sets of chubby hands started grabbing at the food, not leaving even a single piece behind.

Harry waited for everyone to finish eating and, with a sigh, began clearing away the plates so he could get them washed up as soon as possible. He wanted to be sure to have enough time to finish all of the chores on the list before Vernon got back from work that evening. As he went to scrape the bits and pieces left behind off of the dishes, he paused momentarily where he stood poised at the trash bin. Casting a furtive look over both shoulders to be sure he wasn't being watched, he quickly grabbed at the morsels clinging to the surface of the plates. Tossing most of it hungrily into his mouth, he saved a few small bits to give to Hedwig later in the day, sticking them into one of the dirty napkins and stowing it deep within the pocket of his over-sized trousers.

And so, now it was lunch time, and he was stuck outside in the heat of the noon-time sun waiting for his clothes to dry off so he may be allowed entry into the house. For a while, he merely sat on the bottom step clutching his belly. His food for the past two weeks had been coming so rarely and in such small portions that his stomach constantly hurt, periodically sending cramping waves of pain over his body that seemed to spread out until even his head throbbed with the pain of it all. Even now, he was starting to get his headache back and he was having pain, not only in his stomach, but in his chest as well.

Deciding that he might as well start working on the next chore on the list while he waited, Harry got up and headed for the shed. He had no idea how long it would take to get it all cleaned out, but he knew the sooner he started on it, the better. As he stood up and took his first step in the shed's direction, he could feel his heart beating so hard that it hurt and it made his headache throb in sync with each pulse of it. Harry told himself that he could deal with it, that he'd been in worse pain than that before, but he had just gotten to the shed's entrance and had flung open its door when the strange dizziness came back and the world seemed to tilt on its axis. He flung his arms out, seeking anything that would aid in his plight, but nothing was there to break his fall and he hit the ground hard, sending a sharp stab of pain shooting up his left arm. He slowly opened his eyes and struggled to comprehend what had happened, but his foggy mind only let him stay awake just long enough to register the smattering of blood across his left hand before everything fell into blackness.

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**A/N:** Hello to you all! Welcome to all you awesome people out there. Please spare a moment to send a review, so that I know if you like my work and would like me to continue with this story line. Remember, reviews are the encouragement we writers need to keep us motivated. So, I hope to hear from you. And until next time…Happy Reading!!


	2. Seeing Red

Disclaimer: Just in case you hadn't figured it out yet, I don't own these characters. They belong to the awesome J.K.R.

Warnings: This story contains elements of abuse, cutting, and depression. Also, this particular chapter contains a few swear words, as well.

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Where Do I Go From Here?

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Chap. 2 Seeing Red

Harry felt as if he were floating in darkness. Distantly, he could hear someone yelling, but they seemed a far way off and he was unable to understand what they were saying. He allowed his mind to settle down again and he relaxed in the marvelous darkness that bathed his senses in peace.

oOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOo

Petunia had eaten her lunch and had sent Dudley out the door with some cash so he could eat out with his friends. As she gathered her plate from the table, she looked at the clock that hung on the wall near the back door, and realized that she had not checked on her nephew for almost an hour now. Scowling with the thought of the little brat, she yanked open the door expecting to see him still sitting on the bottom step where she had left him, but found no one there. She called for him, but getting no response, she slipped her shoes on, grumbling under her breath the entire time, and stepped outside to find the little nuisance before any of the neighbors had a chance to notice any of the boy's abnormal behaviors.

First, Petunia checked the front yard, inspecting the flower beds as she passed them, looking for any weeds the boy might have missed, but she was disappointed when she saw that, not only had every weed been pulled, but he had also trimmed back the bushes as well. She narrowed her eyes as she walked back into the backyard, scanning the expanse of it until her eyes rested on the open shed door.

As she neared the shed, she could see something on the ground just in front of the door, but the tall grass blocked out most of it from view. She continued her approach, mentally adding _mow the lawn_ to the boy's chore list, and upon closer inspection, she could make out Harry's legs. She allowed a look of fury to cross her face at the thought of the lazy oaf just taking a nap and ignoring her calls while she was spending her time and energy looking for him. Her mind working in overdrive trying to think of a suitable punishment, she almost fell when she got close enough to see into the darkness of the shed and came to a sudden stop in her surprise.

There the boy laid, his body sprawled in the dust, with his back to her and his arms still stretched out beside him, as if he had been reaching for something and fell asleep. But she knew he wasn't taking a nap. The pallor of his skin and the blood pulled beneath his left hand told her as much.

Gingerly stepping forward, she used her foot to push his bleeding hand to the side and saw what had caused the injury. The old blade that had been taken off the mower so it could be sharpened, had been left on the floor of the shed and one of its tips now gleamed in the shed's relative darkness, a dark coating of drying blood standing out in full clarity against the dirty metal.

Petunia sneered in disgust; even when he hurt himself, he seemed to find a way to contaminate her belongings. She called to him again, but when he still didn't rouse, she gave him a kick to one of his legs. His leg was moved several inches by the force of the kick, and still he did not respond. With a glitter of malevolence in her eyes, she picked up the old, blue bucket that sat in the corner and left. She returned a few minutes later, struggling slightly with the weight of the now filled bucket. Without another moment's consideration, she upended the bucket over the boy's head, pouring the flood of cold water directly over his face.

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Harry had heard someone calling to him again, and had just about decided to ignore the voice and keep floating in the peaceful darkness when he suddenly felt like he was drowning.

oOoOoOoOoooOoOoOo

Harry suddenly spluttered awake, his arms and legs flailing in the dust as his clouded mind tried to help him escape the sensation of drowning that had shocked him into awareness. Spitting out a mouthful of the liquid, he opened his eyes and was able to blearily make out his Aunt's form silhouetted against the sunlight streaming through the open shed door. She was tapping her foot impatiently and Harry panicked, knowing he must have been out a long time for his aunt to have come looking for him.

Knowing he was in a lot of trouble now, he tried to get to his feet, but when he pulled his hands under himself to support his weight, a searing pain answered him in return as his left hand made contact with the ground. He couldn't help the small gasp of pain that escaped his lips when it had happened, and he quickly bit his lower lip to prevent it from happening again as he once again put his hands on the floor.

Rising from the dirt, he snatched his glasses from the ground on the way up and caught, out of the corner of his eye, the blood stained mower blade. He suddenly realized why his hand was hurting and he chanced a look down, seeing dried blood smeared across the back of his hand and fresh, dripping blood from a wound on his palm, the red liqued oozing out and following a path between his index and middle fingers, where it fell in big, thick drops onto the shed floor.

He looked up and saw that his Aunt had her eyes trained on the wound as well, her face screwed up in a look of abhorrence. He quickly tucked his hand behind his back, hiding it from her view, causing her eyes to shift, meeting his gaze as if in challenge. Harry wisely said not a word, knowing that he would get no compassion no matter how bad the wound, and that complaining of the pain would garnish him no sympathy.

"Well?" She questioned him, "What are you just standing around for? Clean up your mess."

She pointed one of her bony fingers to the puddle of mixed blood and water on the ground and she exited as hurriedly as possible, as if staying in the same area as his spilled blood would somehow taint her. Harry watched her go and was able to relax slightly, glad he was able to escape the confrontation without an extra punishment.

He checked to make sure she was gone and he looked out just in time to see her slip into the house. With the coast now clear, he pulled his hand from behind him and held it in the sunlight streaming through the doorway. The palm of his hand had been sliced from the joint of his index finger, across his palm and down, stopping at the juncture where the slope of his hand met the bony joint of his wrist.

Harry hesitantly stretched out his fingers from the half-curled up position they had adopted since the injury and winced as the sheared flesh of his palm shifted open and fresh blood came gushing from the opening. Seeing nothing else for it, he used his other hand to bring the bottom of his baggy shirt to his mouth and he bit down on it and pulled. He was instantly rewarded with the sound of the worn fabric ripping and he managed to pull off a strip about the length of his arm.

Finding a spot on the shed floor that was not soiled with water, he sat and stretched his legs out in front of him. He placed the end of his make-shift bandage across one of his legs and laid his injured hand upon it, grasping the end of the fabric in his bloody palm. He then wrapped the strip of cloth around his hand over and over again, neatly tucking the end of it underneath when he was done. With a little wiggle of his fingers to be sure the bandage would stay in place, he was satisfied that he'd done the best he could, and he set about soaking up the water from the floor with an old, raggedy mop he found in the back corner.

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Needless to say, Harry had missed lunch that day and didn't fare any better at suppertime. When Vernon had found out that the chore list had not been completed, he grabbed hold of Harry from where the boy had been standing at the stove making spaghetti, and he threw him into his cupboard, telling him that he would be in there for the remainder of the night and would not be returning to his bedroom again until they no longer had to worry about him contaminating the house with his abnormal blood.

Feeling morose, Harry looked down at his hand and inspected it. The wrappings were damp in the middle with fresh blood. It wasn't as he could make it stop bleeding altogether, and his relatives knew that. In fact, Harry was sure that if Dudley had been injured that way, not only would Dudley have received medical treatment for it, they would probably have called an ambulance for him and everything.

Harry kicked at the wall in irritation. It wasn't fair. What had they expected him to do? He did his chores as best he could, but it went so much slower with the use of only one hand. In fact, Harry was sure that he would not have fallen on that blade at all if his relatives would have had the common decency to at least feed him a little. Harry knew that the weakness and dizzy spells, even the episode of fainting this afternoon, was due to a lack of nourishment. This hadn't been the first time he's had to suffer the effects of forced starvation.

Deciding to try to get some sleep, he attempted to stretch his body out on what remained of his old cot, but even that turned out badly. Not only was he too big for it, but the cupboard itself was too small for him to fully straighten out, forcing him to lay upon the uncomfortable thing with his legs scrunched up near his chest, wrapping his arms around himself to keep warm.

It was than, laying in the quiet darkness, that he suddenly realized that he had not been bothered with his usual stomach pains ever since the accident with his hand. Yes, he had a dizzy spell or two since then, but the gnawing pain of hunger never made itself known. Harry wondered briefly about that phenomenon and concluded that the soreness from his hand must have distracted him from all his other pains. Cataloging that fact away in his brain to use another day, Harry shut his eyes in an attempt to sleep.

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When Harry next awoke, it was not to the sound of his Aunt's screeching, but to his body's urgent need to relieve itself. Sitting up on the cot, nearly missing hitting his head on the overhead stairs, Harry briefly wondered what time it was. He couldn't hear Dudley's normal t.v. program blaring its noise through the house from where he usually watched it from the living room, so perhaps it was just early and he was the only one awake yet. But that couldn't be right. The small sliver of light that made its way into his small space from the foyer beyond was ample evidence that it was not early in the day. He remembered all those years he had spent living in the cupboard before he started at Hogwarts, and he knew that the sun did not reach high enough in the sky to cast its light at such an angle as to reach his cupboard until about 10:00. So, what was going on then?

As Harry waited, he examined his bandaged hand again. The oozing blood that had soaked the inside of his bandage yesterday was now dry and felt scratchy against his skin. He flexed his fingers carefully and was thankful to note that it was not quite as painful to do as it was the day before. After a while, the scratchy dried blood began to irritate his hand, so he started to remove the bandage, slowly unwrapping the material, layer by layer. It was slow and tedious work, especially since the dried blood acted like glue, making the layers of cloth stick hopelessly to one another.

He had gotten almost the entire bandage removed but then stopped before attempting to lift the fabric covering the wound itself. The edges of the cloth were stuck fast to his skin and he worried what would happen if he were to remove the cloth altogether. Thinking that it would perhaps be better to wait until he was allowed into the bathroom so that he could loosen the bandage from his cut with some water, he rolled the crusty strip of cloth up into a ball and clung onto it loosely within his left hand.

Half an hour later and Harry was considering how much trouble he would be in if he were to just relieve himself on the floor. He was just looking for the best spot in which to do so when the cupboard door was flung open and he was staring at the face of his Uncle Vernon. _Wait_, Harry thought, _What is he doing home on a Friday?_ The confusion must have registered on Harry's face, because Vernon soon answered the unspoken question.

"You lazy clout of a boy! Finally up I see."

Vernon reached into the cupboard to grab Harry out, and Harry flinched out of habit, pulling his arms over his face in protection, despite knowing it would do no good. His Uncle managed to seize one of Harry's legs, and the boy was forcefully yanked out of the cupboard, his body sliding on its back until he was laying face-up in the foyer with his arms still over his face. And that's when the blows started, his Uncle unknowingly informing Harry of what had happened as he ranted, kicked, and slapped the boy around.

"Did you honestly think there would be no punishment for you after you skipped an entire day's work?!"

A vicious kick landed on Harry's ribs and he groaned out his pain.

"We, out of the goodness of our hearts, allow a freak like you into our home, and the only thing we ask in return is for you to help out around the house, and this is how we are repaid?"

Harry hurriedly tucked his injured hand under his chin, shielding his head and face with his right arm as Vernon grabbed a handful of his hair, twisting his beefy hand back until Harry was forced to look into his purple, rage-swollen face. When he next spoke, spittle landed across Harry's face and he struggled not to throw-up in repulsion.

"You slept through all of Friday and most of this morning, you miserable little bastard!"

A hard slap across his exposed face sent Harry's senses reeling. And he was only distantly aware of what was going on around him as his Uncle dropped his weakened body to the floor. Then, another kick landed, but this time, it was to Harry's abdomen, and he was unable to prevent what happened next. His bladder suddenly released its contents and Harry started to shake in fear of what his Uncle would do to him once he saw it.

"What the bloody blazes did you just do?!"

Vernon was quick to stand back as the puddle of pee neared where he stood. With a look of absolute disgust and loathing, he started his tirade again, but mercifully, this time he stayed back, afraid of soiling his new, expensive loafers in the urine.

"You little, worthless wretch! You'll be cleaning this up, I'll have you know. There'll be extra chores for a week, now, as punishment. Maybe if I keep you busy enough, you'll have less time to spend pissing on the floor like a common animal!"

And then Harry was alone once more. His Uncle flung a piece of paper to the floor in front of him with the scribbled list of chores before he stomped into the living room, turning on the television and increasing its volume, as well, in an attempt to drown out the whimpers of pain from the quivering form still lying on the floor in the room beyond.

oOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOo

Harry was still unsure how he was able to rise from his spot on the floor and make it to the bathroom, but not being one to snub a miracle, he washed up as best he could, and rinsed out his bandage, carefully peeling back the cloth and wincing in pain as it clung relentlessly to his raw flesh in a few spots around the edges of his wound. He scrubbed at the bloody spots on the cloth under the flow of water, watching as the pink, blood tinged water flowed down the drain. After it was as clean as he could get it, he wrung it out the best he could with his one good hand and he rewrapped the still damp cloth around his injured hand, holding in the yell of pain that tried valiantly to escape as he cinched the fabric tight.

Harry then fetched the mop and bucket from where his Aunt kept the items in the corner of the basement, next to the washer and dryer. He cleaned his mess up from the foyer, still wearing the same urine-stained clothes he had on when the accident occurred. Hopefully, his Uncle would be repulsed enough by the pungent smell that he would allow Harry a chance to shower and change clothes soon.

He carried the bucket of mop water into the bathroom to empty it down the drain and, not knowing when he would next be allowed the use of the bathroom, Harry leaned down to the sink's faucet and slowly sipped some water from his cupped hand, relishing the feel of the cool liquid on his parched throat. Afterwards, he made the decision to use the toilet one last time before he left to start the new list of chores he had been given. When he stepped forward and started to empty the little bit that was still in his bladder, he was dismayed to see it come out looking awfully bloody. Sincerely hoping his Uncle hadn't caused permanent damage, he left the bathroom.

oOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOo

It wasn't until later in the day, when Harry overheard a conversation between Aunt Marge and Uncle Vernon on the phone, that Harry discovered where Aunt Petunia and Dudley had disappeared to. Dudley had insisted that she buy him the newest video game that was to be released that day, and she relented after only twenty minutes of his pleading, where he had blubbered and stamped his foot like a toddler being denied a treat. Of course, Vernon didn't see it that way. He sounded proud of his fat lard of a son that he had been able to use his 'superior negotiating skills' to get his way again.

They had left for the day, which as far as Harry was concerned, was a small reprieve. For, as harsh as his Uncle's punishments always were, he didn't follow Harry around like Petunia always did, pointing out his mistakes and criticizing his every move. As long as Harry kept busy with his chores and stayed out of Vernon's way, he would be virtually ignored, leaving him free to sneak a few bites of food if he were both careful and lucky today.

It was later that afternoon that Harry was offered the chance to do as he planned. Harry waited until Vernon stepped into the bathroom, carrying the newspaper with him. Harry knew that he would have a little time to get into the food, and so that's just what he did. He hurried to the pantry, and glanced over its contents, snatching up a few of the items from its shelves. He ran to his cupboard to stow the things away and hoped that his relatives would not notice them missing. Surely, they would never miss a package of muffin mix, a can of Vienna sausages, and the mostly empty jar of peanut butter.

He slid the items underneath the cot and grabbed some rags of old clothing from the corner to lay over it all, using the rags to hide the food further. Once satisfied that none of it would be easily found, Harry raced back to the kitchen, slinging open the refrigerator door in search of more. He found some lunchmeat, but worried that it would definitely be noticed if it disappeared, so he passed it up. Finding two pieces of week-old chicken legs wrapped in foil in the back, Harry decided that those would be better than nothing, and he greedily snatched them up.

He sat on the floor and unrolled the foil from his prize, grabbing up the first piece as soon as it was free, he stuffed the end into his mouth and tore off a big chunk of it with his teeth. The old, cold chicken felt rubbery and slightly slimy in his mouth, but he choked it down and took another bite. He ate as quickly as he could and finished both pieces in record time. Hearing the distant sound of the toilet flushing, he hurriedly crumpled the foil into as small a ball as he could, hiding it in the trash can underneath the remnants of the morning's junk mail.

Harry had just rinsed the crumbs from his fingers and grabbed up the wet dishcloth as Vernon stepped into the room. Harry started wiping down the spotless counters, trying his best to look both innocent and busy. Without making eye contact, he hastily wiped the table down as well and left, his uncle watching him go as if he knew he was up to something, but nothing was said and Harry was able to escape the possibility of enduring his Uncle's wrath yet again that day.

Harry had just gotten safely away from the kitchen and was about to head out the door to do the mowing when he felt the first cramp in his stomach. Harry slowed his steps as the pain got worst, finally coming to a full stop with his hand still upon the doorknob. He grunted at the pain, willing it away. He couldn't afford for this to happen right now, not when he had been so close to freedom.

Suddenly, a particularly harsh cramp started that brought him to his knees and he was powerless to stop the moan of agony that escaped his parted lips. When he felt his mouth watering, he knew he was in trouble. If he threw up here, where his Uncle could easily see, there was no way he'd be able to hide the fact that he had stolen some of their precious food. Forcing himself to his feet, he made his way out the door just in time as Vernon came out of the kitchen on his way to the living room.

Once outside, Harry practically ran to the bushes that grew beside the house and dropped to all fours, spilling his meager meal on the ground behind the plants as he vomited everything he had taken in that day. When it was all over, and his stomach had stopped its forceful contractions, he pulled himself back up from his stooped over position, wiping his mouth on his sleeve and glancing around to be sure none of the neighbors had seen what happened. As he got up to leave, he nonchalantly kicked some dirt over the puddle of bile and half-chewed chicken and walked off on his way to the shed.

oOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOo

It wasn't until late that night, as he lay on the cot clutching his stomach as it cramped again, that he realized it was futile trying to eat anything at all. He had waited for hours after he had been placed in his cupboard to risk pulling the string that hung from the bulb above, flooding the small space with much needed light before opening the peanut butter jar. He had been able to scrape out almost a handful of the substance, eating it greedily from his fingertips. Shortly after, the cramping and the pain started, providing no respite for him until he emptied his stomach again. He had at least enough foresight to catch the contents in the empty peanut butter jar, and then screw the lid down tight. He hid it back under the cot and planned to dispose of it the first chance he got.

Harry tried his hardest to sleep that night, but the pain was keeping him awake. He was so hungry that he felt as if he hadn't eaten in months, and yet, the mere thought of putting food into his stomach was making him nauseous again. He wasn't sure how he would make it through the summer this year. Granted, this was not the first time he had been purposely starved while under his relative's 'care', but never to this extent. He raised his hand to wipe away one of the teardrops that had formed before it had a chance to fall, and he couldn't help but notice how badly his hands were shaking.

He lifted his shaking, injured hand to examine it, and noticed that the bandage had thankfully been able to dry out that day and didn't seem to be bleeding any more. He took the wrappings off, twisting his hand this way and that in the light, noticing the deep red color of the skin near the bottom of the wound. Fearing that it was infected, Harry decided that tomorrow he would have to risk rummaging through his Aunt's medicine cabinet when he cleaned her bathroom in the morning.

It was several minutes later, as he was still clutching his left hand in his right, that another strong wave of stomach pain washed over him and he shut his eyes and inadvertently squeezed both of his hands in response. Pain flared from his palm and he quickly opened his eyes again to see that the wound had been reopened, blood dripping out in a steady flow to run down his up-stretched arm, to fall into his lap.

He wrapped his hand again and was just tucking the end of the bandage under when he realized he couldn't feel his stomach pains anymore. With a deep sigh, he soon fell into a troubled sleep, where he only felt the dull throb of his hand instead of the sharp pains in his stomach that had assaulted him all that day. Twisting and turning, nightmares plagued him throughout the night, the image of Sirius falling through the veil making him cry out in his sleep.

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**A/N: **Hey, all you wonderful readers! Did you all understand what happened to him? The combination of blood loss and starvation made him fall into a coma-like state, like what happened at the shed. He did not wake again until his body was given enough time to recoup a little from everything. As is common in these types of situations, where people don't eat anything for days at a time, reintroducing solid foods can be troublesome, more so for people suffering from routine periods of starvation…and I'm sure the injuries received from his Uncle and to his hand didn't help matters any.

Please don't forget to leave a review…when you do, it just makes my day!

And to those of you who take the time, I promise to respond to each and every review I get, and I occasionally give a hint for what's coming in the next chapter for those who ask. As always, thank you and Happy Reading!!


	3. The Birthday Blues

_Disclaimer_: If these characters were mine, I would be rich and then I could stay home all day…wait…I do that anyway…Oh, well. Still not mine.

Warning: This chapter contains themes of cutting, depression, and abuse.

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Where Do I Go From Here?

Chap. 3 The Birthday Blues

Harry woke the following day in the wee morning hours, his body stiff and sore from sleeping scrunched up as he had on the pitifully broken-down cot. As he turned and stretched his arms out to get some of the feeling back in them, he almost winced at the smell coming off of his clothes. Uncle Vernon had seen no reason to allow Harry a shower the day before, what with Aunt Petunia being gone most of the day, and himself maintaining as wide a berth from his nephew as possible. But now, Harry's overly large clothes absolutely reeked with the dried out remnants of urine that had gotten all over them the day before, and he knew his Aunt would let him get cleaned up as soon as she got close enough to smell him. Despite knowing that he would soon face a cold shower of water from the hose in the backyard, Harry was anxious for the opportunity to feel clean again.

Harry guessed he had a little time before any of the house's other occupants started to wake, so he dug out his hidden stash of food, finally deciding to eat the small can of Vienna sausages for his breakfast. Carefully peeling back the top, he fished one of the pieces of meat from the juices in the can and brought the morsel cautiously to his mouth. After the repeated bouts of nausea and stomach pain the day before, Harry wanted to be careful to avoid causing his body to react like that again, and he ate the meat with small, controlled bites, waiting for several minutes each time he swallowed a bite to be sure he wasn't going to sick up.

He was able to eat two of the sausages before his stomach started to rumble in protest, and he slid the can back under his cot, wrapping any rags he could find around it so that the strong smell of it would not reach Aunt Petunia's sensitive nose. He had just finished its concealment when the door to his cupboard rattled, signaling his aunt's mood as she angrily fumbled with the sliding bolt lock that kept Harry confined inside. With a sudden metallic scrape and click, the lock was successfully slid open, and Harry narrowed his eyes in discomfort at the bright light that flowed into his space from the foyer beyond.

"Up, Boy! Breakfast needs to be ready within half an hour, so you've no time to waste sitting around like a useless bump on a log. Get to work!"

Harry stumbled his way out, almost bumping his head on the frame of the small doorway, and making the mistake of catching himself on his injured hand as he struggled not to fall flat on his face. He winced and grinded his teeth together as pain shot through his hand and up his arm. But quickly schooling his face into an expression of objectivity, he picked himself off the floor as best he could and made his way to the kitchen.

oOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOo

Later that day, after being hosed off in the backyard, Harry was finally dressed in some reasonably clean clothes, albeit many sizes too large, and was hard at work cleaning his aunt's bathroom. The work was slow going, and he was consistently berated every time his aunt checked on his progress. It seemed she was walking in every five minutes or so just to complain, but Harry decided now was a good a time as ever to proceed with the plan he had come up with just the night before.

"I'll be right back; and you had better be done scrubbing that toilet before I return."

Harry waited until her footsteps receded into the distance, and he risked picking himself up from his stooped over position in front of the toilet to be sure she wasn't within sight down the narrow hallway. Knowing he had precious little time, he quickly slung open the mirrored front of the medicine cabinet above the sink and began rummaging through its contents in the blind hope that he would find what he needed to tend to the infection in his wound.

Picking up various medicine bottles and tubes of ointment, he read each label, being careful to put the item back into its exact space when it saw that it wasn't what he was looking for. He had gone through the medicines on two of the three shelves and was beginning to grow desperate as the minutes ticked by and he still had not found anything that would help.

Hearing the noise from the squeaky step, Harry knew his aunt would be to the bathroom in a manner of seconds, so he grabbed the last few items off the shelf and hurriedly read each label before lifting them back to the shelf one by one. He had just about given up when he realized that one of the two medicines he had left in his hand was a tube of antibiotic cream. He stuffed it into his pocket and started to put the last remaining pill bottle into its place when he spotted his aunt in the hall. Knowing he wouldn't have time to put the last bottle back without being seen, he stuffed it down his pocket as well, and hastily shut the medicine cabinet just as Aunt Petunia came to a stop in the bathroom doorway.

She eyed him suspiciously as she settled her hands on her hips. "What are you doing?"

Harry gulped and slowly turned around, hoping she had not caught him. "Um," Harry looked around for an excuse before remembering he was standing in front of the sink. "Just washing my hands."

He turned the faucet on and soaped his right hand and the fingers of his injured left hand as she stood silently watching him from the doorway, as if she somehow knew he was lying but was trying to figure out why. By the time he was done with his quick wash up, Harry was practically sweating bullets. He dried his hands on the front of his baggy shirt since he wasn't allowed to use the family's hand-towel, and he grabbed the cleaning supplies up to return them to the cupboard under the kitchen sink.

His aunt stepped aside to allow him passage, and he almost winced in fear of punishment as he passed her, but he was able to remain unscathed. With a sigh of relief, he headed towards the stairs, only stopping for a second before descending them to peer over his shoulder. He could see his aunt glaring into the recently cleaned toilet as if it had wronged her in some way, in her effort to make sure Harry had cleaned it per the usual standards. Apparently, he had passed the test, because he wasn't yelled at or ordered to return. With a small half-smile of satisfaction, he took the steps two at a time, knowing that if he hurried, he would have the rest of the chores finished before supper.

oOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOo

The day went well for Harry, all things considered. He was allowed a cheese sandwich for lunch, and he was able to eat almost half of the thing before his stomach started hurting. He was still pleased though, for it was more than he was able to hold down at once for several days. He was able to finish all his chores and after supper that night, which consisted of the hard, crusty end from a loaf of baked bread, he was told by his Aunt that he was once again allowed to be in his bedroom upstairs, provided he 'not infect any more of the house with his abnormal blood'.

Harry was glad that the cut hadn't bled all day, but as he sat in his room that night and unwound the strip of cloth he kept it bandaged with, he groaned in both pain and disgust when he saw what lay beneath it all. He had known that it was infected from its redness the day before and the throbbing pain that it elicited all day as he worked on his chores, but he was unprepared for the sight of it now, after being left untreated for so long. The entire site was swollen and inflamed, the redness hardly masking the pus forming along the edges of darkened skin, the dried blood flaking off in spots where some of the infection had started to ooze out, leaving the wound dotted with beads of drying, yellow goo.

Harry gingerly touched it with his other hand, wincing and drawing back when pain flared up at the contact. Mumbling under his breath, he checked to be sure that his bedroom door was locked before fishing about in his oversized pocket for the stolen medicine. He pulled out the antibiotic ointment first, but then reached back in to retrieve the bottle of pills he had been forced to hide before he could be caught. He had honestly forgotten he still had them.

He set his supplies on the bed and proceeded to organize the things he would need to doctor his injury. He rummaged about to find some more clothes he didn't mind parting with, and he tore another long strip of fabric from around the bottom of a worn out, grey tee-shirt. He then tore a few more pieces off so he'd have something to clean the wound with. When he felt he was as prepared as he could be, he laid the items on his bed and kneeled on the floor beside it, using the bed's surface to rest his sore hand upon.

Harry knew the area would have to be cleaned before he started and he felt like cursing himself when he realized that he forgot to bring a wet rag into his room to aid his efforts. So, he was forced to improvise. At first, he scratched at the dry blood with one of his nails, but he was only partially successful. He was able to pull some of the dried blood away, releasing some of the trapped pus from beneath; however, most of the particles were too small to get up with his small, chewed down nail. Finally, able to think of no suitable alternative, he spit onto the cut, and used one of the cloths he tore from his shirt to scrub at the opening, wincing whenever he hit a raw nerve.

When that part was done, he knew he had to squeeze out as much of the infection as he could. Gritting his teeth and tensing in anticipation to the pain, he pinched at the most swollen looking spots and had to bite his lip to withhold the screams of agony that almost broke free, his eyes watering at the effort. After using the cloths to wipe away the discharge, he twisted off the cap from the ointment and smeared a generous amount of it over the cut, then wrapped the entire thing up in the clean strip of cloth when he was finished.

Using the heel of his right hand to wipe away the tears that had formed as he worked, Harry then pulled his shirt off to inspect the other sore spots on his body, figuring that he might as well be sure that the ointment wasn't needed anywhere else. After a few minutes of checking himself over and applying the medicine to a few areas, he laid back, allowing his body to relax, and before he realized it, he had fallen asleep on the floor.

oOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOo

He woke the next day to a blinding light that stung his eyes through his closed lids. Bringing his hand up to shield his face from it, he groaned out loud as his muscles protested the movement. Harry stiffly brought himself into a sitting position and looked around in confusion for a few moments before remembering where he was. He was so exhausted the day before that he had apparently spent the entire night on the floor where he had fallen asleep. He reached back to grab up his glasses from where they still lay, bathed in the sunlight streaming through the window, and pushed them onto his face.

Harry raked a hand through his hair and yawned, not quite ready to be so fully awake. He grabbed onto the side of the bed and used it as leverage as he hoisted himself from the floor. He knew one of his relatives would be by soon to tell him to make breakfast, so he set about cleaning his supplies up that he had used the night before. He had just gotten the cloths and antibiotic cream tucked into his hidey-hole under the loose floorboard when he realized there was still something left on his bed.

Picking the pill bottle up, Harry momentarily panicked, worried that his Aunt would notice its absence soon, if she hadn't already, and when that happened, he would be lucky to see anything more than the inside of his cupboard for the rest of the summer. He read the label and slowly released a breath he had not realized he'd been holding. The prescription was old, from the year before actually, and he didn't think she would be missing it at all if it had been sitting in the medicine cabinet that long untouched.

Harry sat on his bed, resting his back against the wall as he fiddled with the bottle, turning it round and round in his fingertips, listening to the slight rattle the pills made as the bottle was shaken. Sitting there like that, Harry allowed himself to get lost in his thoughts. He was really beginning to get worried about Hedwig, for one. He had hoped to see her last night, but she hadn't come to the window at all while he tended his wounds. _Of course_, Harry reasoned, _she might have come while I was asleep. _

While he pondered these things, he let his fingers still and he finally read the rest of the pill bottle's label. Sleeping pills. Aunt Petunia must have gotten them while he was at school last year; he sure couldn't remember her ever complaining about having a sleeping problem before. _But then again_, Harry thought, _she does have to sleep next to Uncle Vernon, and I can hear him snoring all the way into my room_. Harry snickered to himself over the little bit of humor he had been able to conjure up, but suddenly sprang to attention when someone banged on his door.

"Wakey, wakey, Freak!" Dudley's voice sang out in a cruel sing-song tone. "I'm hungry! Hurry up and get breakfast started already!" There were a few seconds of malicious laughter before loud footsteps sounded through the house, signaling Harry's cousin's departure.

With a disgruntled look on his face, Harry headed for his trunk for a change of clothes, tucking the old bottle of pills under the pile of clothes within. He didn't give any of it another thought as he made his way out the bedroom door, dreading the chore list that he knew awaited him downstairs.

oOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOo

The next few days passed as the others before it had. Constant chores, a bite of food here or there, a shove or a kick when he wasn't moving fast enough, a verbal lashing for the slightest infraction, and a full-out beating for anything that could be seen as an act of defiance, which in coincidently, happened quite often. Although the wound on his hand seemed to be slowly healing, the rest of Harry's body was gradually deteriorating. It had only been a few weeks since he had returned from Hogwarts, but already, his ribs were showing and his hip bones seemed to jut out by a great degree. And when he happened to look in the mirror, he could see that his cheeks had begun to sink in a little as well. He would always screw his face up in disgust at how he looked, and it eventually got to the point where he refused to allow himself to even look in a mirror any more.

But it was during the nights spent alone in the dark that he would feel the worst. Some nights he was able to fall asleep quickly from the sheer exhaustion, but there were many nights that he could do no more than lay atop his sheets, curled up in pain, and wondering how he would be able to hide it all from his friends when the time came to catch the train back.

Feeling as he did, it was easy to let the days run one into another, until he was unaware of even what day of the week it was. It was only when Vernon was home for the day that Harry would realize that it was yet another Saturday. Therefore, he was surprised when he was distracted from his dark thoughts very late one night by a thumping, scratching noise at his window.

Wearily pulling himself from his bed, Harry cautiously walked to his window and opened it, the cooler night air assaulting his senses as a light gust of wind pushed its way into the stale, warm air of his stuffy room. He took a deep breath of the refreshing breeze and then almost cried out in alarm as something flew down in front of his face and barreled its way into the room. It wasn't until the creature alighted on his bed that Harry realized with a start that it was Hedwig.

"Hedwig!" Harry cried out happily, relieved to see his long-lost friend. "Where have you been girl?"

Hedwig hooted softly and turned her head to gently nip at Harry's fingers as he reached out to stroke her silky feathers. After a few minutes of petting, she hopped forward and extended a leg. It wasn't until then that Harry noticed the small scroll of parchment tied there, the white of the paper blending in with the white of her feathers. Harry carefully untied it and sat himself on the end of the bed closest to the window, hoping enough light would come through from the street lamps outside that it would allow him to make out whatever was printed on the parchment.

_Harry, _

_Hey, Mate! I hope everything's alright. We've been keeping Hedwig here for you. We were all worried when she showed up a few weeks ago without a note or anything. I guess Dumbledore told you the same thing that he told me and Hermione, huh? I don't think a letter now and then would let You-Know-Who find you any easier, but you know how Dumbledore is. We had to get his permission before sending you even this note! Anyways, I just wanted to say: Happy Birthday!_

_I know we can't send you the usual things (Mum was really upset that she couldn't send you some treacle fudge), so we'll just hold on to them and give them to you when we see you at the train station. Oh, and Hermione wanted me to tell you Hi! Well, Mate, I got to go. I want to get this letter sent before Fred and George have a chance to--_

The rest of Ron's sentence was missing, leaving nothing more than the scratch of ink across paper. The letter started up again further down the parchment, but in a tidier scrawl that made it obvious that Fred and George had, indeed, gotten Ron's letter from him.

_**Hey there, Harry! We wanted to say Happy Birthday to our best investor… well, only investor really, but still much appreciated! As you well know, we won't be returning to Hogwarts for the following school term, but we have no intention of letting anyone there forget us; therefore, we'll be sending you a selection of Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes shortly after the start of school. Consider it a belated birthday gift. Make sure to tell everyone where you got them from. We have to go…Mum's yelling for us. Bye!**_

_**--Gred and Forge**_

Harry couldn't help the smile that stretched the corners of his lips upwards, but just as swiftly, the smile fell from view. If today was his birthday, school was still a full month away. Rubbing his hand over his belly and feeling the sharp ridge of his hip as he lowered his hand, he wasn't sure he'd make it till then, not at this rate anyways. Suddenly angry at his situation, he kicked the bedpost as hard as he could, scaring Hedwig in the process. With a startled hoot, she took to the air, landing on the window sill and casting a furtive look in Harry's direction.

Harry's uncle gave a loud snort as his sleep was disturbed by the noise. Harry held his breath, waiting for the instant when his uncle would bust the door down in a fiery rage, but when nothing happened, he slowly released the breath, thankful that luck seemed to be on his side for once. With a sigh, he slumped down onto his bed, rolling onto his stomach and bending his knees so that his feet were propped up in the air. Supporting his head on one of his hands, he gave Hedwig an apologetic look.

"Sorry about that."

She hooted softly and hopped off the window sill, and with a few flaps of her wings, she landed on the bed next to Harry's head. She leaned down to nibble at a few strands of his long hair and he sighed again, making her feathers ruffle where his breath blew across her belly.

"Oh, Hedwig," he whispered, "I feel so alone."

She lowered his head to nudge at his cheek, but even that wasn't enough to lift Harry's spirits. Hedwig hopped back just in time to avoid the movement of Harry's head as he shifted onto his side and curled into a fetal position. Drawing the covers over his body, he lay for a long time, finding neither sleep, nor peace of mind. When his stomach suddenly gave a loud grumble of dissatisfaction, he tried to ignore it, but when it seemed to lurch and started sending sharp stabs of pain through his insides, he was forced to do something about it.

Harry looked under the bed, in the hole under the loose floorboard, and into the recesses of his trunk for something, anything, to eat that would ease the pain, but finding nothing, he allowed his body to collapse in defeat where he had been sitting by his trunk when another jolt of pain raced its way through him. Biting his lip to withhold a sob of despair, he rubbed one of his hands over his watery eyes, pausing as the fabric still covering his wounded left hand came in contact with his cheek.

Pulling the hand away from his face, he looked at it for several minutes, his face slightly screwed up in thought. Then he hastily began removing the makeshift bandage. Pulling it free, he threw the cloth to the floor and held his hand up to catch the light coming in the nearby window. Even in the dim light, he could still make out the red ribbon of healing flesh that trailed across his palm. He knew it would leave a scar, but he couldn't bring himself to care. _What's one more scar to The-Boy-Who-Lived? _Harry huffed in sick amusement at the thought.

He traced one of his fingers from his right hand down the raised edges of the cut, and when another flash of pain in his abdomen made itself known, he purposely pressed against the scabbed edge, wincing as he did so, but continuing to press harder and harder until the skin gave way beneath his touch and then broke open, blood instantly welling up along the reopened bit of flesh. Harry took in a deep breath, relishing the feeling of control that the action had given him as all the other things that had been bothering him seemed to float away into the back of his mind. All that there was for the moment was this cut and the pain it made, making him forget about the Dursleys, making him forget about Sirius, and making him forget about that damned prophesy. And with a small sigh of contentment, Harry leaned against his trunk and shut his eyes.

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**A/N: **Did you all like this chapter? If you did, let me know. If you didn't, still let me know. And for those of you who are wondering (and because I already got an email from a concerned reader), No, Harry will not be raped by his Uncle. That plot line is totally overused and I will be steering clear of it. That form of abuse occurs while Harry is at Hogwarts, and it happens after a series of worsening events. But that being said, please feel free to contact me with any questions or suggestions you have concerning this story. And **please send me a review**, those are the motivational tools I use to get my writing done. Thanks to you all!


	4. Hogwarts at Last

_Disclaimer_: Wish Harry and his friends were mine, but they're not. Guess I'll just have to cry over that later, after I'm done writing.

Warnings: This story contains themes of cutting, depression, and other not-nice things, so read with caution.

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Where Do I Go From Here?

...

Chap. 4 Hogwarts at Last

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Harry slept well that night for the first time since returning to his relatives' home. When he woke the next morning, he actually felt rested and it seemed to brighten his spirits somewhat. He had inadvertently left the window open all night, so it was to the sound of the birds singing that pulled him from his slumber, and he took a minute or two to fully stretch out his limbs, thankful that he was no longer forced to sleep in the too-small cupboard.

As he went to change into his usual set of work clothes, he was surprised to find the sleeve of his pajamas dotted with dried spots of blood. It took but a moment to remember the events of the night before and he quickly looked around his floor for the latest strip of cloth he had been using as a bandage. He found it cast aside next to his bed, almost hidden in the shadows beneath. Snatching it up, he wrapped it around his hand and secured it in place just as his aunt pounded on the door.

"Up, Boy! Now!"

With a weary sigh, Harry set about getting himself ready for the day before hurrying down to start cooking breakfast. As luck would have it, Dudley had only stayed long enough to grab a couple plates full of food to carry into his room to eat, and his aunt seemed distracted that morning, so Harry was able to wolf down a couple pieces of bacon while her back was turned, burning his tongue slightly on the hot meat, but enjoying it just the same. As Vernon finally appeared, wearing a brown suit and striped tie and carrying the morning paper under his thick arm, Petunia was quick to complain about the odd smell that she had been catching a whiff of all morning.

"I've smelled it for days now, Vernon! Every time I walk through the downstairs, I catch a scent of it. I'm telling you, I think a mouse had died somewhere close-by!"

Vernon grumpily set his paper down and sniffed loudly, his mustache twitching back and forth as he bobbed his head to the left and then the right, trying to humor his wife in her complaint. Not smelling a thing, and not caring that his nose was not as sensitive as his wife's, he was quick to placate her before grabbing his newspaper back up.

"I'm sure it's nothing dear, but if it worries you so much, set the boy to find it and dispose of the creature for you."

Harry, who had been eavesdropping on the conversation, hurriedly swallowed the mouthful of bacon he had snatched and turned his head in the direction of the table where his aunt and uncle were sitting, just in time to see them both shoot a nasty glare in his direction. And as expected, his aunt cleared her throat and added another chore to his constantly growing list.

"Did you hear that, Boy? You will find that dead mouse and get rid of it! I don't care if you have to clean out every cupboard in this kitchen, you understand?"

Harry gave a rapid affirmative nod of his head, but when he saw Vernon peer at him with narrowed eyes from over the top edge of the raised newspaper, he was quick to stammer out his reply.

"Y-yes, Aunt Petunia."

She nodded her head once as if reconfirming his obedience and then turned back to Vernon. Within moments, she was engrossed in another one-sided conversation; one that consisted mostly of her complaining about their neighbors cat and how it kept coming into the yard to lay in Petunia's flower garden. Harry, meanwhile, wondered if he would be able to steal any more food while completing this new particular chore...this might just work to his advantage. Harry grinned at the possibility.

oOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOo

Harry was frowning and gritting his teeth in frustration. This was definitely not working out as he had hoped. He had spent the entire morning in the kitchen, cleaning out every cupboard, cleaning off every shelf, checking behind each appliance, and still, he was unable to locate the source of the smell. And to make matters worse, his aunt spent the entire time standing over his shoulder, dictating his every move and complaining that he wasn't moving fast enough. Harry was convinced that it had to be an act of God that was allowing him to reign in his temper before he said something that would get him in more trouble, and more trouble was something he surely could do without.

He had just finished putting the last pot into the cupboard next to the stove when his aunt made the brilliant assessment that…

"You're looking in all the wrong places, Boy, or you'd have found it by now. Go search a different room."

His aunt watched him as he left the room, sneering at him as he looked over his shoulder at her before propelling himself out of the kitchen and into the foyer on his quest to locate the source of the smell. Harry sniffed the air and was surprised when he was able to catch the smallest hint of a foul smell in the air. Following his nose, he ended up sitting on his knees, staring at his cupboard door. With a look of dread, he opened the small white door that hid his old bedroom from public sight, suddenly remembering what the most likely culprit probably would be.

Harry reached in, stretching his upper body into the small, confined space, the remembered thoughts of his previous days within it preventing him from summoning the willpower to allow any more of his body to be in the cupboard at any one time. Swallowing hard, he reached below the old cot, yanked some old clothes out of the way, and pulled forth the opened can of Vienna sausages that he had opened several days ago but had been unable to finish. The can reeked of the spoiled meat, and Harry had to fight his urge to gag. Looking into the small, half-empty can, he could see a few spots where a white, fluffy looking mold had started growing near the can's rim, and he backed out of the small space as quickly as possible, eager to dispose of the thing as soon as possible.

As he backed up from the opening and straightened out his back, he could feel himself bump into something warm and firm, and he suddenly had the feeling that he would not like what he was about to see when he turned around. With a fearful expression, his shoulders raised in anticipation of a beating, he slowly shifted himself around until he was facing the opposite direction. Still staring at the floor, he could see a foot tapping in rapid rhythm, the end of the house shoe making a slapping noise upon the floor every time it hit. Harry raised his gaze little by little, first taking in the hands clenched in fists, then the arms which perched those fists on a set of hips, and then, lastly, to his aunt's face, which was twisted into a look of such fury and loathing that Harry had to instantly look away. Harry held his breath, waiting for the tirade to start.

"You miserable, thieving little bastard!"

A harsh slap to his face made his eyes fly open in shock, and he stumbled backward, scrambling onto his back when he lost balance, the open can lying forgotten where it fell from his grasp. Before he was able to recover his balance, Petunia had grabbed hold of the front of his baggy shirt, tightening her grip until Harry was straining to take in even a single breath. His fingers flew up to his collar in an attempt to free himself, but it was useless due to the injury to his hand and the weakness that had been plaguing him for days now.

She maintained her grip and slapped him again when he continued to struggle. Harry's hands grew still as he accepted his fate and he was slid to the side, across the floor, when his aunt pushed him from in front of the cupboard entrance with the fist-full of shirt she had a grip of. Keeping one hand on her nephew, she searched with her free hand through the few of Harry's meager belongings that were still in his cupboard. Harry craned his neck to watch, praying silently that she would not find his stash of food.

As she yanked the corner of the cot away, he knew luck was not on his side. For a moment, it had seemed as if time stood still as his aunt stared in shock at the items she found, then it was if time had sped up all at once. Before Harry even had a chance to bring his arms over his head to protect himself, blows started to reign down upon him. And although she never hit him with a closed fist as Vernon liked to do, her open handed slaps still stung like fire upon his face. As she hit him, she vented her rage so loudly that it drew the attention of Dudley, who had been playing his video games in his room.

It wasn't until he caught the sound of Dudley's sniggering over Petunia's harsh words that Harry even realized his cousin was in the room with them. And when Dudley yelled out, "Kill 'im, Mum!", it seemed to bring her back into a state of rationalization and she pulled her hand back, clutching it once again into a fist in an effort to fight the urge to hit the boy some more. When she next spoke, it was in a menacing whisper that made Harry's heart seem to freeze in his chest.

"Just you wait until Vernon gets home."

And without further ado, he was cast back into the partially emptied cupboard, without so much as a blanket to soften his fall. As he leaned against the wall opposite the door, rubbing his hands over the sore parts of his neck that had been rubbed raw by the shirt, he listened as Petunia dragged the old cot away, most likely to place it into the basement. When he finally felt like his breathing had returned to normal, he brought his fingertips up to his cheeks in an attempt to measure the amount of damage he incurred. His cheeks had taken the brunt of the force, and they were painfully swollen and hot to the touch, making him wince at the first contact.

He was unable just then to stop the tears that gathered in his eyes and trickled down his cheeks, leaving behind a stinging path of wetness that glistened in the low amount of light that entered Harry's prison from beneath the closed door. Lowering himself to the floor, he placed his hot cheek against the coolness of the linoleum as he curled himself up to wait for Uncle Vernon to get home.

oOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOo

Harry wasn't sure how he had survived his uncle's beating that night, but he was positive that his magic had something to do with it. Even as he watched Vernon's fist fall, he could feel the slight tingle in his magical core that always precipitated a bit of spell casting. And although it usually only happened when he was using his wand during lessons at Hogwarts, he was sure that there was no other explanation for the way the hits seemed to hurt less and less with each blow, until Uncle Vernon finally stopped from sheer exhaustion. Of course, Dudley immediately stepped forward to volunteer his services, but his aunt and uncle mercifully chose to throw him back into his cupboard instead.

And there he spent most of his time for the following weeks, nursing his sore spots and contemplating how miserable his life was. He was allowed out to do his chores, of course, but afterward, he was always sent back into the cramped space. It was during his third night in the cupboard, after a day with only a couple pieces of bread to eat, along with a small, boiled potato from the dinner roast, that Harry was finally successful at a wandless _Alohomora_,and was thereafter able to escape from the cupboard at night, after he was sure everyone else had fallen asleep, often using this opportunity to raid the trash for food scraps.

At first, he had been disgusted with the idea, but as his hunger assailed him, he was forced to reconsider this option, especially now that his aunt made a checklist of all the food in the house in an attempt to prevent Harry from being able to steal anything else. So far, none of the Dursley's had noticed that Harry's cupboard was never locked in the morning, and Harry remained hopeful that it would stay that way.

It was on one of his nightly visits to the kitchen trash can that he found something that caught his attention more than the bits of meat still left on one of the bones from the pork-chops that had earlier been served for supper. As he reached in to grab at the bone, he noticed a glint of light shining off of something else in the trash. Upon closer inspection, Harry could make out something metallic under the remnants of the dinner and wadded up napkins.

He carefully pulled the item out and held it in the shaft of light that shone in through the nearby window. Harry was pleased to discover the new Swiss Army knife that Dudley had received for his birthday earlier in the summer. A few of the gadgets attached to it were broken, like the corkscrew and the tiny pair of scissors, but the knife blade and screwdriver were still functional, as well as the toothpick attachment, but Harry didn't think much on that since he wasn't putting that thing anywhere close to his mouth if there was even the slightest chance that Dudley had actually used it for its intended purpose. He scrubbed the dirtied blade and handle off on his pants leg, folded the blade back into its place and slid it into his pocket before continuing his search for food.

oOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOo

It wasn't until a few nights later that Harry actually used the pocket knife he had found. After sticking it into his pocket that first night, he had kept it hidden at all times, afraid that if he were found with it, not only would they accuse him of stealing again, but they would find out about his nightly forages in the trash can and he would lose the source of food he depended on to supplement his meager meals from his relatives.

The past few days had been especially hard on him. Staying scrunched up in the small space was making his joints hurt constantly, and the continual silence and loneliness was really beginning to get to him. He lost count of the hours he spent curled up and lost in thought each night. So, it was on one of those nights that he found himself pulling out the knife and staring at its open blade in the sliver of light from under the cupboard door. Tracing his finger along its sharp edge, he suddenly found himself applying more and more pressure until, with a gasp, he broke through the skin and the knife dropped from his fumbling fingers.

He brought the bleeding digit to his mouth, sucking away the blood, letting the copper taste of it permeate his senses. It only bled for a moment or two, but it did its job just the same. Harry allowed himself to focus on this new cut, letting all the other things that had been plaguing him recede into the farther recesses of his mind until he felt numbed to it all. With a sigh, he leaned against the back wall of his confines and eventually fell asleep, his last thought being about the oddity of the situation…How physical pain, which was something he had always tried to escape from before, was now the tool he used to escape the even bigger emotional pain that he felt constantly attacking him from all sides.

oOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOo

Harry's remaining time with his relatives that summer was spent in the cupboard, secluded and withdrawn, his only relief found by the blade of a knife. Even the anticipation of returning to Hogwarts was unable to rouse the usual amount of joy he would typically feel at this time each summer. So, it was with a heavy heart, and even heavier thoughts, that Harry collected his truck and other belongings, and dragged them out to the Dursley's car, where he spent almost 15 minutes trying to hoist the cumbersome thing into the trunk. Finally, Vernon lost his patience and angrily forced it into its place, cuffing Harry on the back of the head with one of his beefy hands in irritation before the boy had a chance to duck out of the way.

Now on their way to the train station, Harry pulled the hood of his sweatshirt up and over his head, hiding as much of his face as he could within its dark folds of fabric, despite the insurmountable heat of the day, praying that he would be able to board the train without anyone recognizing him. After a long, uncomfortably silent car ride, they arrived at their destination, Uncle Vernon pulling up to the curb only long enough to toss Harry's large trunk to the ground before hurrying away, casting neither a look, nor uttering a word as he departed, his wheels squealing against the pavement in his haste.

Harry remained for a moment where he was left standing next to his trunk, but as Vernon's car disappeared in the distance, he turned around and dragged it into the building, swiveling his head from one side to the other looking for a trolley to set his trunk and Hedwig's empty cage upon. He finally spotted what he was looking for and was soon approaching platform 9 ¾.

Harry paused just outside of the barrier, checking to be sure he was well hidden in his long sleeves and hood before passing through, not slowing down his pace until he was safely ensconced within one of the empty compartments. Luckily, it was still early in the day and only a few other students had been on the platform when he passed through. Pulling out his wand, he cast a locking charm on his door and closed the blinds on his windows, affectively hiding himself from anyone's view. Then, he rummaged through the contents of his trunk, pulling old textbooks out at random. After he was satisfied that he had taken out every book that might contain what he was looking for, he began searching through the pages of them for some kind of spell that he could use to hide his true appearance from his friends.

Harry paid no attention to the time as he concentrated fully on the task before him, and it wasn't until the knob to his compartment rattled in noisy irritation that he pulled back the blinds on the window and saw that the platform was swarming with students and their families. Harry ignored the voices he could hear complaining on the other side of his door and he heaved a sigh of relief when they eventually left.

He peeked out of the window again, and this time he could see Hermione and Ron standing near the back of the platform, scanning over the crowds of people there, presumably in search for him. He felt miserable for hiding himself like he was and making them worry, but he knew that if they ever found out the truth, they would be even more worried and they might tell others about his horrible summer, and the last thing he wanted was for the whole wizarding world to know that their 'chosen one' wasn't even able to stand up to a couple of pitiful muggles.

Harry wiped the gathering pools of moisture from his eyes and settled his attention back to the book in his lap where there was an entire three chapters devoted to glamour charms. He gripped his wand and spent the rest of the train trip working on a suitable spell that would hide his thinness and the bruises that mottled his pale skin, only stopping for a few moments whenever someone would rattle the knob to his compartment. Whenever it happened, he couldn't help but to hold his breath until the person finally left, and afterwards he would always double his efforts, more determined with each passing hour to accomplish his task before the train pulled into Hogsmeade Station.

With only twenty minutes left before the train reached the station, Harry was able to cast the spell he had discovered in his Charms book that would alter his appearance, and he checked his body over twice with a conjured mirror just to be sure he didn't miss any spots. Satisfied that he was as prepared as he could be, he relaxed on the soft, padded bench seat he was sitting on, suddenly exhausted by the day's events.

So, it was with relative ease that he fell asleep, not even batting an eye as the train slowed to a stop. In fact, it wasn't until the students had all departed and the train gave a sudden lurch that Harry was jolted awake. He blearily looked around in confusion for a few moments before reality sunk in, and in an instant he was hastily tossing his school books back into his trunk, grabbing its handle and dragging the heavy thing behind him as he scrambled out.

The train had just started pulling itself up the tracks as Harry made it to the closest door. He pushed his trunk out, watching as it tumbled to a stop before following suit, jumping from the bottom-most step and falling to his hands and knees as he hit the ground, scraping the palms of his hands and making a small tear in the knee of his pants. He rose from the ground panting and sweaty, looking around to be sure no one had seen his blunder. When he discovered that he was alone, he was slightly relieved, but then he panicked, peering about in the darkness for one of the carriages that would take him the rest of the way to the castle.

Luckily, he spotted a lone carriage standing near the edge of the road, almost hidden in the shadows cast by the overhead trees. Nearing it, he was pleased to find it empty, as if it were waiting just for him, and he was quick to load his trunk upon it as if worried it would leave without him. As soon as the carriage's small black door clicked shut, the thestral started trotting towards Hogwarts, and Harry watched out the window as the view of the large castle came into view, its windows glowing with the light of the many lit candles within. He was half-way there before he realized he had forgotten to change his clothes, so he yanked off his baggy sweatshirt and slipped his school robe over his head just as the carriage slowed to a stop.

He clambered out with his trunk and watched as the carriage once again disappeared into the darkness of the night. He was still standing there, clutching the handle of his trunk, when he heard a noise that instantly put him on edge. He heard someone issue a purposeful cough, and then a silky, smooth baritone voice began speaking in a scornfully, mocking way.

"If you are quite done star gazing, Mr. Potter, perhaps you would see fit to grace the rest of the castle with your astounding presence. I'm sure they are just as eager as _I_ to catch another glimpse of the famous _Boy-Who-Lived_."

Harry's face blushed red in both embarrassment and anger, but after his difficult summer, he was weary about talking back to his Potions professor, even if he had never stopped to think twice about it in the past. The last thing he wanted right now was to risk the wrath of yet another adult who clearly hated him, so he bit his bottom lip and stared at the ground, mentally cursing himself for the way his hands started shaking as his professor walked closer to him from where he had previously been standing, leaned against the castle's stone wall.

Harry could hear the crunch of stones under feet as his professor neared where he was standing, coming to a stop only a foot away. He saw when the man's shiny, dragon-hide boots came to a stop so close to his own, and the shaking that had started in his hands quickly spread to his arms, forcing him to shove his hands into his pockets in an attempt to hide this show of weakness. Suddenly, that same deep voice spoke again, and Harry couldn't help the small flinch that occurred.

"Do at least have the respect to look at me when I'm talking to you, Potter."

Harry gulped and slowly raised his gaze until he was looking at Professor Snape head-on, but he was surprised to see that the man was not looking at him in loathing, but rather, he had a contemplative look to him, as if he were trying to figure out a riddle that was perplexing him. The two stood there in uncomfortable silence for a few moments before it was all broken by Snape's sudden movement.

"Come, Potter."

The man swung his body around to walk back towards the castle, making a gesture with his hand indicating he wanted Harry to follow, but the movement was so swift, Harry practically jumped out of his skin, throwing his arm up a fraction of the way in an effort to shield himself from an attack before he realized what he was doing. Snape had stopped in his tracks when that happened, narrowing his eyes on the boy in thought, and then continued on his way as if nothing out of the ordinary had taken place.

Harry was relieved that Snape seemed to be ignoring his odd behavior, and he hurried after the man in order to catch up, his trunk leaving grooves in the gravel path as he drug it noisily along. After only a few steps further, Snape turned with an exaggerated sigh and an extended wand. Harry instinctively grabbed out his own wand and had just started to raise it when he heard Snape speak again in an exasperated way.

"Honestly, Potter, have you forgotten that you can perform magic?"

Snape gave a little flick of the wrist and a spell shot out from his wand, shooting past where Harry stood, and enveloping his trunk in a pale white glow, maintaining its link with Snape's wand by a long cord-like tendril of magic which allowed the man to guide the trunk's path as it floated into the air. Harry released the breath he had been holding as he once again followed after his Potion's professor, the trunk now floating silently beside them.

As they entered the Main Hall, Snape set the trunk down with the rest of the students' belongings, where house elves were already hard at work popping in and out as they transported each person's possessions to the right room in the castle. Snape gestured once more for Harry to follow after him, and Harry was glad he was able to withstand the urge to flinch again. He didn't think he could stand being embarrassed in front of this man even one more time tonight.

Snape stopped just in front of the large doors that opened to the Great Hall, Harry almost bumping into the back of him due to the sudden stop.

"Detention. Tomorrow at eight. On account of your tardiness."

Harry had started to open his mouth to complain but quickly shut it again. Unfortunately not quick enough, for Snape had apparently seen the gesture, and he raised an eyebrow slightly at him. But when Harry stood silently for a few moments in quiet submission, the man gave a small, affirmative nod of his head before silently walking away, leaving Harry in shock over the fact that he wasn't being dragged in front of the Headmaster in an attempt to get him expelled.

Harry stood alone in front of the large, heavy wooden doors to the Great Hall for several minutes trying to work up the nerve to enter through, knowing the staring and the whispers would start as soon as he appeared. He had almost made up his mind to call it a night and head up to his dorm room before he remembered that he did not know the new password, and when his stomach rumbled loudly in complaint, it cemented the decision in his mind. So, squaring back his shoulders and taking a deep breath, he pushed one of the heavy, oak doors open and slipped inside.

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**A/N:** Well, what do you think of Snape? Did I make him snarky enough? And do you think he knows Harry's secret yet? Send a review and let your opinion be known!

By the way, I have drawn a picture to go along with the last chapter, and am currently working on additional illustrations for this story, but my scanner is refusing to work for me, so it may be some time before I will be able to post them where my readers may see them as well.

Now, I would like to send out a big _**Thank You **_to the following individuals, all of whom have taken the time to consistantly post a review after _every_ chapter, and are thereby encouraging me in my writing efforts: **Cowabunga**, **mizz-shy-gurl**, and **Murgy31**

Now, for everyone else,** PLEASE send me a review! **It really makes the 10 hours or so that I spend writing each chapter seem worth it all the more if you could just drop a line to let me know that my time is being well spent. Thanks to you all!


	5. The New Professor

**Disclaimer**: Darn it! I don't own any of J.K.R's characters. Not a single one. Sigh

**Warning**: This story contains themes of child abuse, depression, and cutting, even a bad word once in a while. Please don't read if you feel you'll be overly affected by the story's content. Thanks!

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**Where Do I Go From Here?**

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Chap. 5 The New Professor

As Harry slipped into the Great Hall, all heads turned towards him and the chattering of the students' conversations died off, leaving the softened thud of the heavy door shutting behind him echoing throughout the now silent room. Glancing over the heads of the seated students, he quickly made out Ron and Hermione where they were sitting near the farthest end of the Gryffindor table and he hastily walked in that direction, doing his best to ignore the stares and whispers of the other students as he passed.

He slid into the space between his best friends where they had scooted over to leave him room and he reached for a plate, keeping his head down the entire time in the futile effort of avoiding the questions he knew were on the tips of their tongues. After he served himself from the near-by dishes that were closest, he grabbed up his fork and started eating, taking small bites so that he didn't risk another episode of vomiting, especially in front of his friends.

Hermione, in her ever-observant ways, noticed Harry's reluctance to converse with those around him and was quick to share a look with Ron; and between the two of them, their silent, threatening glares made most of the other students back off, the conversation slowly picking up again as everyone decided it would be wise not to risk the wrath of Gryffindor's newest prefects.

When she was sure that no one was trying to listen in, she leaned closer to Harry's ear and whispered, "Are you alright, Harry? Where were you? When we couldn't find you on the train, we figured that Professor Dumbledore had arranged alternative transportation for you, on account of You-Know-Who and all, but when we didn't see you here either, we thought…"

Hermione trailed off, not sure what to say, as Harry finally brought his gaze up to meet her own, but she merely took a deep breath and continued.

"Well, we weren't sure what to think, but we're glad you're here now. So, why were you late and why weren't you on the train?"

Harry paused with a forkful of food halfway to his mouth to look again at his friend who was now staring at him questioningly. His mind was suddenly working in overdrive as he sought for a plausible answer, but when nothing was forthcoming, he decided that it was just easier to not explain anything at all, sticking with the same story that his friends had concocted on their own as to his apparent absence from the train. After all, if they knew he spent the train ride hiding from them, there would be even more questions. So, as he turned to see that Ron was looking at him as well, he simply stated, "I wasn't on the train. Dumbledore sent someone to pick me up from the Dursleys, and I just now got here."

Ron instantly nodded in acceptance to the explanation, but it appeared that Hermione was going to be more difficult to persuade. Her brow furrowed a tad and she asked, "Really?"

Harry couldn't help the look of annoyance he cast her as he tried to convincingly answer her question. "Of course, Hermione. How else could I have gotten here? It's not like I know how to apparate, you know."

She automatically drew back at his slightly sharp tone and fell silent, and Harry suddenly felt bad for speaking to her in such a manner. He brought his hand to her shoulder, and said, "Look, I'm sorry, Hermione. I didn't mean for it to come out that way. I'm just that it's been a long day and-"

But before he could say more, she interrupted him to anxiously ask, "Did something happen on your way here?"

At first, Harry was taken aback, and it took him a second to respond. "What? No, of course not."

"Oh. Well, that's good." She responded slowly, but then a spark lit up her eyes and she excitedly asked, "So then, tell us all about it. How did you get here? Who was sent to pick you up?"

"Ahh," Harry's thoughts raced to come up with a believable reply, "Portkey. Took me straight to the front gate."

Finally, Ron had decided to join into the conversation, and when he spoke, it was around a mouth full of mashed potatoes, "Awesome, Harry. I wish Mum would let me do something like that."

"Eww, Ron!" Hermione twisted her face in disgust at his atrocious table manners and raised her hand as if to block out the sight from her view, "You can't chew and talk at the same time."

Ron quickly swallowed and merely shrugged and smiled at Harry, almost making him inhale a sip of pumpkin juice from the goblet raised to his mouth as he snorted in amusement.

Hermione shook her head at the both of them, and Harry was sure he could hear her mutter the word '_Boys_' under her breath as she rolled her eyes in exasperation. Then Ron chimed in again.

"Hey, Harry…who _did_ Dumbledore send to pick you up?"

Hermione instantly jumped in to correct the red-head. "It's _Professor_ Dumbledore, Ron." As this was going on, Harry quickly looked away, throwing his view to the Head table, letting his eyes wander over the staff sitting there as he tried desperately to come up with something. "Um…"

Just then, in the corner behind the Head table in the back of the room, a side door opened up and Professor Snape entered, having finally made his way there from an alternative route that he took, thereby avoiding the stares that Harry had received on his own way in. Before he even realized he was speaking, Harry blurted out, "Snape."

Realizing what he had just said, he turned back to his friends, both of which were now staring at him. Hermione asked, "Professor Snape brought you?"

Harry, seeing no way out of it, nodded his head and Ron's voice exploded out, "What?! They sent that greasy git to get you? Great Merlin, Harry, no wonder you were in a bad mood when you got here."

Hermione admonished Ron, her cheeks going rosy from embarrassment as she now realized all the students sitting around them were now staring at them because of Ron's outburst. "Shush, Ron. You're making a scene."

Ron lowered his voice and whispered conspiratorially into Harry's ear, "If he was the one in charge of getting you here, you're lucky you didn't end up being taken straight to You-Know-Who."

Harry wasn't sure why, but he suddenly felt the need to defend Snape. After all, no matter how poorly the man had always treated him, Snape _had_ saved his life numerous times. "Ron," Harry whispered right back, "He may be a git, but he'd never do something like that! Lay off him already."

"Geez, Harry!" Ron looked mildly appalled. "You know…You're starting to sound just like Hermione."

Harry couldn't help but raise an eyebrow at that, and Hermione, who had apparently heard that last comment, was about to lay into Ron, but the Headmaster interrupted Hermione's little speech before it even got started.

Professor Dumbledore had risen from his usual spot at the Head table and was now standing in front of it, his hands raised in an attempt to quiet the students, and once everything fell silent, he smiled genially at everyone as he made his announcement.

"Here at Hogwarts, we believe in preparing our students to the best of our abilities. And during these troubling times, we feel that we have an obligation to ensure that your education remains as varied and as comprehensive as the obstacles you may have to face once you are on your own."

Harry could feel the unease in the room as Dumbledore made the indirect reference to Voldemort, and he proceeded to listen to the remainder of the announcement in rapt attention.

"Therefore, let me introduce your new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher," Dumbledore swept his arm through the air to direct everyone's gaze to where a man was rising from his chair at the end of the staff table. "This is Professor Stroper. I'm sure you will all join me in welcoming him to Hogwarts."

The announcement ended and there was a brief smattering of applause for the man before he gruffly took his seat again. Dumbledore sat as well, and the dinner dishes vanished shortly after, to be replaced a moment later with the desert trays. As Ron eagerly started grabbing at his favorite treats, Harry looked back to where the strange man was sitting.

The fellow was sitting back in his chair, his arms crossed as if bored with the proceedings, and it suddenly crossed Harry's mind how similar this man was to Professor Snape. He wore dark colored clothing, definitely not new, but not as worn as Remus' had always been; and over his shoulders, a cloak was clasped, hiding much of the man's outfit behind the rough, black fabric. But the hair was the most noticeable similarity. It was just as dark and greasy looking, but Stroper kept his long stringy hair tied back with a thin strip of what appeared to be leather.

His skin, however, was as different as it could be from the sallow looking Potions Professor. It was dark where Snape's was pale, and the man looked as if it had been a few days since he had last shaved, the stubble making his face look old and gritty. It was as he was studying Stroper's dark brown eyes that he noticed the man was staring at him as well, and he hurriedly brought his attention back to his friends.

"It's like I was saying, Hermione," Ron was talking enthusiastically as he scooped up a spoonful of chocolate pudding, "That guy looks familiar."

"There's a reason for that," Hermione calmly explained as if to a child, "He's in the Daily Prophet at least once every couple of weeks or so. Don't you ever read?"

"Of course," came the smug sounding reply. "The sports section. The Chudley Cannons came close to winning their last game."

Hermione rolled her eyes and sighed before turning to Harry. "You recognize him, don't you?"

"No." Harry gave her a half grin. "But he looks as if he's related to Snape."

"_Professor_ Snape, Harry. And they're not related…or at least I don't think so." That new train of thought got her slightly distracted as she thought about the possibility, but then she quickly dismissed it and explained.

"His full name is Zane Stroper. He's a mercenary."

Ron interrupted, his statement almost incoherent due to the amount of food in his mouth. "He doesn't look all that religious to me."

Harry coughed loudly to hide the chuckle that erupted when he heard what Ron said, and Hermione sighed and rolled her eyes at the red-head and said, "Honestly, Ron!"

"What?!" Ron voiced his indignant reply and continued to look at her in confusion until she explained.

"_Mercenary_, Ron. Not _missionary_. That means he took jobs hunting down others for pay. You know, like rouge vampires and such. He even tracks down and captures the occasional Death Eater every now and then for the reward money."

"Wicked!" Ron looked eagerly up at the man at the Head table as if he were his newest role model.

A few minutes later, the Welcoming Feast had ended, and the three friends left to Gryffindor tower along with the rest of their house.

oOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOo

Harry slept fitfully that first night back, and if it weren't for the silencing charm he had cast around his bed, he was sure he would have woken up everyone in his dorm room with his cries and violent thrashing. It was near dawn that he fully woke, his eyes large and straining to see in the darkness of the room. He was sweaty and panting, having just had another nightmare over the events of the summer, or more precisely, the beating he got after Vernon found out about him stealing food. Harry shuddered at the memory of it as he slid out of bed and padded over to his trunk.

As silently as he could, he lifted the lid and sifted through the contents within, not stopping until he held the small pocket knife he had recovered from the garbage in the Dursley's kitchen. Walking back to his bed and slipping his legs back under the sheets, he propped his upper half against the headboard and pulled up his left sleeve. He used his wand to lift the glamour charm and he took a few minutes to reverently run his fingertips over the raised edges of the healing cuts that were littered over the underside of his arm from wrist to elbow.

Rubbing across the scabbed over lines with his hand, he then picked a spot for another cut. He brought the knife to his skin, pausing for only a moment before bringing it down in a steady, controlled, swiping motion. He allowed the knife to fall from his grasp and dropped his head down as he lifted his arm. He licked at the blood that welled up over the site as he shut his eyes. With a sigh, he felt as if he could breathe again, as if the world around him wasn't closing in on him, and as if the things Vernon and Petunia had done were something of the past and should, therefore, not be able to affect him.

In the back of his mind, he knew he was fooling himself. He knew memories weren't that easy to forget, but it certainly felt nice to pretend for just a while, at least until the newest cut stopped hurting and he was forced to focus on that deeper emotional pain that seemed to be drowning him no matter how hard he tried to rise above it all.

He slid the closed knife into his pillowcase, recast the glamour charm, and then ended up laying awake for the rest of the morning until his year mates started to rouse, one after another. He waited until the other boys started to get out of bed before following suit, grabbing a change of clothes up on his way to the shower.

Harry had made sure to get the rarely used shower on the end, fearful that the others would somehow see his new scars, despite knowing that the glamour charm was working perfectly well. Most of the other boys avoided this shower because it didn't drain well, always leaving a murky looking puddle in its center. Stepping in, Harry was quick to shower and then be on his way, doing his best to ignore the morose thoughts that sprung up as his hands ran over his bony hips and ribs, detecting his thinness even through the glamour charm.

He left his room shortly after the rest of his dorm mates, following behind them on their way to the Great Hall for breakfast. Ron picked up on Harry's quietness, and after several unsuccessful attempts at starting a conversation with the other boy, he settled for merely walking close-by, uncomfortable in the silence and scanning the crowds of gathering students for some sign of Hermione. Ron eventually found her once they reached the Great Hall where he finally saw her sitting in her usual spot with one of her new textbooks opened in front of her.

As the two boys made their way over to sit with her, Harry eyed the book and suddenly panicked. With everything that had happened over the summer, he had completely forgotten to get his schoolbooks for the year. He didn't have much time to dwell on it, however, because Professor McGonagall located the trio shortly afterwards to hand out class schedules and pass along a message.

"Mr. Potter, the Headmaster has asked that you report up to his office before you head off to your first class this morning."

Harry nodded and McGonagall walked away, handing out the small sheets containing the schedules as she walked along. Harry grabbed a blueberry muffin, muttered a quick good-bye to his friends, and started his trek up to Professor Dumbledore's office, sincerely hoping it was just to discuss how he would be obtaining his much needed school supplies. He munched on the warm muffin as he went, but after a few bites, he could eat no more, depositing what was left of it into a nearby wastebasket as he passed.

Dusting the bread crumbs from his fingers, he made his way up a flight of stairs, only to bump into a warm body as he rounded a corner. He would have fallen straight onto his backside if the other person hadn't grabbed him by his right arm, supporting his weight as he regained his balance. Looking up, Harry was startled to see Professor Stroper staring down at him with a peculiar smile on his face.

"Sorry, Sir." Harry was quick to apologize, but when he went to pull his arm from the man's grasp, the hand holding him tightened a tad, just enough to prevent Harry's escape. Nervously looking upward again, he suddenly realized how much taller this man was compared to himself. Stroper's dark brown eyes glinted down at him from above, and the hand gripping his arm loosened, sliding down until it reached Harry's own hand before gripping it in a firm handshake.

"So, I finally meet _the_ Harry Potter." The man's voice was just as gravelly as his appearance, and he paused to look at Harry appraisingly before adding, "I've heard much about you from the other staff. I look forward to seeing you in action in the classroom."

The calculating look the man was giving him was making Harry feel awkward, and he hurriedly gave an excuse so he could leave the man's presence as soon as possible.

"Uh, Professor Dumbledore wants to see me, sir; so, I'd better get going. Nice to meet you." Harry dashed from sight as soon as his hand was released, and he couldn't help the sigh of relief he gave as he headed up the next flight of stairs. He couldn't quite place his finger on it, but something about that man rubbed him decidedly the wrong way. He slowed his pace once he reached the Headmaster's office and he waited a few minutes until his breath regulated before he uttered, "licorice wands". Passing between the stone gargoyles when the section of wall moved to grant him entrance, Harry stepped onto the spiral staircase that led up to the polished cherry door.

He lifted his hand to knock, but as his hand swung forward, the door did too at the same time, and the voice of the Headmaster floated out to where he stood on the uppermost step.

"Come in, Harry. Come in."

Harry walked in, closing the door behind him with a click, and could see Dumbledore seated at his desk, smiling cheerfully in his direction. With a wave of his hand, the old wizard gestured Harry to one of the ornate looking seats positioned opposite his own. Harry sank down into the seat on the right, waving away the dish of candy that Dumbledore had extended to him. With a shrug and a smile, the Headmaster withdrew the offered sweets and plucked one of the yellow colored confections from the top of the dish and plopped it into his mouth.

"Well now, Harry," the old man greeted him around the candy in his cheek, "I guess you're wondering why you're here, hmm?"

Harry nodded his head and replied, "Yes, Sir."

"Actually, I requested your presence because there are a few things that I would like to inquire about…such as to your tardiness to the feast last night."

Dumbledore raised his brow in expectation of an answer, and Harry's eyes grew large as he struggled with what to say. Finally deciding that something close to the truth would be best, he responded with the simple answer of, "I fell asleep on the train."

Dumbledore nodded his head slowly, narrowing his eyes as he did so, as if he knew that Harry was withholding something from him. As much as Harry hated not telling Dumbledore the entire truth, he could not bring himself to even hint at what had occurred over the summer, preferring instead, to pretend it had never happened. Harry held his breath, waiting to see if Dumbledore would take the questioning further, but when the subject was changed a moment later, he allowed himself to relax a little, unclenching his teeth and breathing more normally.

"Yes, well, the main reason I asked you here was to inform you that I've arranged some special tutorage for you this year."

This snapped Harry to attention, and he sat up straighter in his chair. "What kind of 'special tutorage', Sir?"

"Dumbledore smiled brightly and said, "In Defense Against the Dark Arts, of course! It's already been arranged with Professor Stroper for you to attend an extra session with him twice a week, after your other classes of the day. Your first session with be on Thursday, I believe. I only ask that you be discreet in what you share with your D.A. members this year. Some of the spells and techniques he'll be teaching you are not ones that are generally taught in a school."

Harry raised his brow at this, not quite sure what to say. On one hand, he thought it would be great to be able to learn more advanced spells, but on the other hand, just thinking about spending all that extra time with Professor Stroper was beginning to make him feel physically ill. He knew he had only spoken to the man once, but the stares he had gotten both last night and just a short while ago had made him extremely uncomfortable, and he wasn't so sure he wanted the extra lessons_ that_ badly.

"You won't have to worry about that, Sir," Harry explained to him, "because I'm not sure I'll be teaching the D.A. again this year, not if I'll be so busy with extra lessons. But about those, Sir, I think I'd rather just skip the lessons and study on my own like I did for the D.A. last year, if you don't mind."

Dumbledore looked a little shocked at this and the surprise was evident in his voice when he spoke. "You don't want extra defense lessons? But why, Harry?"

Harry thought about it for a few minutes, but was unable to come up with anything more than 'because he creeps me out', so he cast about for a different excuse, finally coming up with the pitiful response of, "Quidditch."

Dumbledore's face fell into a look of confusion at first, and then just as rapidly, into one of amusement. "Oh, pish posh, Harry! You'll still have plenty of time for that, I assure you. Besides, everything's already been arranged. In fact, Professor Stroper was quite enthusiastic about the idea. So, don't go skipping any sessions for something as trivial as quidditch, Harry. After all, this is all being done to help prepare you for the next time you have to face Voldemort." Dumbledore fixed Harry with a stern expression and then stood, gesturing for Harry to do the same. "So, now that that's all settled, you'd better be running along to class. You don't want to keep Professor McGonagall waiting on your first day back, do you?"

Downhearted, Harry responded with a weak, "Yes, Sir," and just as he was walking out the office door, he could hear Dumbledore say, "Oh, and by the way, I've taken the liberty of ordering your textbooks from Flourish and Bott's; they should arrive by tomorrow."

Harry muttered out his thanks and then headed off to class, hanging his head the whole way, so absorbed in his melancholic thoughts that he didn't even see the dark figure withdraw from the shadows as he passed.

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**A/N**: Hello all!! Wow, I got such a good response to the last chapter that it inspired me to write this one faster than I thought possible. I know this chapter is a little shorter than the last one was, but it was the best spot I could think of to stop at.

So, tell me my faithful readers…Would anyone care to guess who it was watching Harry from the shadows? Send a review with your guess, and I'll let you know if you're right. And as an extra reward to anyone who guesses correctly, I'll give them a hint for something that will be in the next chapter.

Lastly, I would like to post the response I sent to one of my readers who voiced their concerns with the story's plotlines and such. I'm posting this in the hopes that it will clear up any misconceptions, or other such doubts, that anyone might have in regards to the story.

Adenoide,

Thank you for your review. I appreciate your honest response. Now to answer some of your concerns...Harry did not seek help for the same reason most abused children don't. Most children have a way of accepting at least part of the abuse they suffer as just being a way of life. When children are brought up a certain way, even if that way is wrong, they accept it as the norm because it's all they know. Also, Harry doesn't want others to know because he doesn't want to seem weak. Like most teenagers, he wants to make sure others keep a certain image of him. Besides, I'm sure you remember what happened in J.K.R.s books if you read them. The last thing Harry would want is for the other students to have yet another reason to be pointing at him and whispering behind his back.

Also, the fact that Harry has money in his Gringotts vault does him little good out in the muggle world. Besides, I'm sure that he would need an adult to be able to access it since he is a minor. Also, he can't run away from the Dursleys because the blood wards there keeps him safe from Voldemort for the summer and Harry feels that it is his responsibility to do all he can to defeat Voldemort some day, and if that means he must stay with his relatives so that he could remain in the blood wards, than I think he would do it. After all, he has to stay safe from Voldemort long enough to learn the skills he needs to defeat him. And Dumbledore didn't rescue Harry because he doesn't know about the abuse...or at least, the full extent of it.

Nobody noticed the abuse when he returned to Hogwarts because he used a glamour charm to hide his bruised and thin appearance. And don't excuse Snape from the picture yet, there is more to him than meets the eye. He is, after all, a spy... a very intelligent one, I must add.

Last of all, I will address your concern about Harry's hand and his school supplies in the following chapter or two. His hand is no longer infected because he treated himself with medicine, but that doesn't mean that it didn't leave a scar or anything. I'll post again within the next week or so. Thank you once again for your review. Please feel free to contact me with any other questions or concerns you may have. Bye for now, and Happy Reading!!

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As always, please take the time to send a review, even if it's just a few words. I love reading everyone's opinion of my writing. It just makes my day when I check my e-mail and find out I've gotten new reviews. Thanks to you all!!


	6. Suspicions Arise

**Disclaimer**: Nope. Not mine. Not a single one…except for Stroper!

**Warning**: This story contains themes of child abuse, depression, and cutting, even a bad word once in a while. Please don't read if you feel you'll be overly affected by the story's content. Thanks!

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**Where Do I Go From Here?**

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Chap. 6 Suspicions Arise

Severus Snape stepped silently out from the darkened hallway, his narrowed eyes watching the path of Gryffindor's Golden Boy, Harry Potter, as the boy shuffled past him and around the next corner. He just _knew_ something was going on with the little brat, and he was determined to find out exactly what. And with that thought in mind, Snape walked in the direction the from which the child had just come, passing through the still open passageway to climb the spiral stairs, earning a disgruntled rumble of complaints from the stone gargoyles that served as guardians to the Headmaster's office.

Before even reaching the uppermost step, Snape heard the old man call to him from within the closed room, "I've been expecting you, Severus."

Snape, no longer surprised with this particular parlor trick of Dumbledore's, gave his head a shake, both amused and exasperated at the same time. He then entered, seating himself in the same chair that Harry had occupied just minutes before as he waited for the old Headmaster to turn from where he was standing petting Fawkes, his phoenix.

The red and gold plumaged bird trilled in contentment as Dumbledore stroked his wizened hand over its crest, the feathers ruffling from the contact. A moment later, the old wizard returned to his desk, seating himself and looking inquiringly over at the black-clad man before him. Taking in the other man's dour expression, Dumbledore was the first to break the silence.

"What seems to be troubling you, Severus? It's only the first day of school; surely, the Gryffindors have not gotten on your bad side already this early in the semester?"

"Albus, you know as well as I that no Gryffindor has ever _not_ been on my bad side."

Dumbledore chuckled at Snape's dry humor before asking, "Well then, Severus, what is it I can do for you this fine morning?"

"Potter."

Snape's clipped answer seemed to stop the Headmaster's amusement faster than anything else might, and Dumbledore drew his brow down in concern as he inquired, "I am to assume that this is in reference to Harry's late arrival to the Welcoming Feast last night?"

Snape gave a quick, solemn nod of his head before clarifying, "I observed Mister Potter from the time he exited the carriage, to the time I left him at the doors to the Great Hall, and I saw something that I believe needs to be brought to your attention."

Dumbledore gave a grave nod of his head and asked, "I take it that you noticed it too then?"

With just a bit of impatience in his voice, Snape answered, "Of course, I noticed. That glamour charm he's wearing is as obvious a one as I've ever seen."

"Yes," Dumbledore slumped back in his chair, "I noticed it as well. What do you think he is trying to hide?"

"Humph," Snape's face took on a look of disgust, "knowing Potter, it's probably nothing more than some vain attempt at disguising some normal teenage condition. The boy's likely just trying to hide a pimple or some other such nonsense."

Dumbledore raised an eyebrow at the man sitting opposite him in a look that portrayed his gentle patience, and he stated more than he asked, "But you don't believe that's all it is, do you."

The Potions Master's face fell into a stony look of concentration as he replied, "No, indeed, I don't."

Silence reigned for several minutes as both men were lost in their thoughts, but then, with a deep, weary sigh, Dumbledore directed, "Do help me keep an eye on him, then. Let me know if you discover any more pieces to this puzzle."

Snape rose from his seated position, gave a nod of understanding, and then was gone from the room in a whirl of billowing robes.

oOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOo

Harry trudged through his classes that morning. Although Ron had sat by him all that day and shared his textbooks with him, Harry was unable to muster the energy to pay even the slightest bit of attention. Ron couldn't help but notice how distracted his friend was, but try as he might, he was unable to snap Harry out of the somber mood he seemed to be stuck in.

As they made their way out of the greenhouse after Herbology class, Ron left Harry's side to meet up with Hermione when he spotted her standing just outside the side entrance into the castle. Having just gotten out of Arithmacy, Hermione was juggling the thick texts she carried, trying to jostle them to sit more comfortably in her arms as she waited for Ron.

They had planned ahead of time to meet at that spot so that they could all walk together on their way to lunch, but as Ron jogged over to where Hermione stood, he glanced back and noticed that Harry hadn't even realized he had left his side. The raven haired teen still had his head down, walking in silence and paying no attention whatsoever to the bustle of the other students walking past him.

So, with a sigh, Ron pulled Hermione to the side, out of the main path of most of the walking students, and started a hurried whisper of words into her ear, telling her all about how odd Harry had been acting all morning. Meanwhile, Harry continued walking with his head down, straying from the main path and occasionally kicking at a loose stone or two whenever he saw one.

Ron shared a concerned look with Hermione before he bolted down the steps and pulled Harry on the arm. Trying to mask the concern in his voice, he smiled and said, "Come on, Harry. If we don't hurry, we won't have time for lunch."

Harry made eye contact with Ron, gave a half-hearted smile in return and answered, "You know, Ron, I'm not feeling all that hungry." Harry caught Hermione watching them from over Ron's shoulder and he added, "Why don't you and Hermione go on without me."

Ron was unable to hide the hurt look on his face, but after several more attempts at getting Harry to join them, they were forced to go on reluctantly without him. Harry stood at the bottom of the steps as he watched them finally go, and he breathed out a sigh of relief. All morning, all he could think of was how Dumbledore had arranged those extra classes for him. And although he knew he should be pleased to be given such an opportunity, he wasn't looking forward to having to spend so much time with that creepy new Defense teacher, and he resented the fact that, once again, the adults in his life were making him do things he really didn't want to do.

Walking toward the lake, he stopped under the shade of one of the trees, distantly recognizing it as the one he had seen in Snape's pensieve last year. It was the same tree that the Marauders had always favored, and he ran his hand over the rough bark, delighting in the scraping sensation the action caused, using the slight hurt to ward off the tears that had started to form in his eyes.

The sky was cloudy, and there was a light breeze that rustled the leaves above him as Harry stretched out in the grass, intent on relaxing some of the stress out of his muscles, reveling with the sense of peace he had out there on his own. Ron had been bugging him all day, and he was happy to be able to escape, even if he had to miss lunch to do it. For as lonely as Harry had felt during the summer, he had discovered that being around everyone again did nothing to dispel this feeling, and by mid-morning, he felt as if he was going to jump out of his own skin in his anxiety. He had wanted nothing more than to be left to his own thoughts, but everywhere he went there was someone trying to get his attention. If it weren't the teachers themselves, than it was Ron or one of his other classmates. _Why?_ Harry wondered. _Why can't they all just leave me be?_

oOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOo

The chattering of the students was really beginning to get on Severus' nerves. He typically never attends lunch in the Great Hall, but taking Dumbledore's directive seriously, he planned on watching Potter's every move, and if he had to suffer through the noise and clatter of a bunch of children stuffing their faces, than so be it. The only problem was that he could see neither hide nor hair of the insufferable brat anywhere. Oh, he spotted the other two thirds of the Gryffindor trio as they hunched together, carrying on a heated discussion and occasionally scanning the main entrance to the room, but Potter was nowhere to be seen. And nothing ticked Snape off more than wasting his time and having nothing to show for it. So, it was with a fit of irritation that he stormed out of the Great Hall at the end of lunch, students hurrying to clear out of his path as he stormed down the halls, back to the darkness of the Dungeons.

oOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOo

Harry woke to the sound of thunder in the distance, and he rubbed his eyes with one hand as he pushed himself up to a sitting position with the other. Blearily, he looked around, confused at first as to where he was. Suddenly, he remembered how relaxed he was feeling as he laid under the shade of the tree at lunch time and how he had only intended to close his eyes for a few moments, but apparently, he had fallen asleep.

It was just starting to get dark out, but whether it was due to the time of day or the oncoming storm, Harry wasn't sure. He groped in the grass for a second or two, finally locating his glasses and putting them on his face, and instantly brought the world into focus again. Casting a _tempus_ charm, Harry was surprised to find out that it was, indeed, starting to get late. In fact, Harry had missed his afternoon classes, and was currently missing supper.

At the thought of food, Harry's tummy gave an angry rumble and he picked himself up from the grass, hoping that eating a little for supper would help settle his rolling insides. He stiffly stood and started making his way up to the castle, flexing his limbs as he walked in an effort of working some of the soreness out of them. Finally getting inside, he paused just inside the Main Entrance Hall. The thought had suddenly occurred to him that his friends would have so many questions as to his whereabouts after lunch that he would be lucky to get even one bite of food. So, with a deep breath, he turned on his heel and took off in the direction of the kitchen, knowing he could count on Dobby to give him anything he might ask for.

oOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOo

Ron and Hermione were again in deep discussion with one another over the same subject that had been on their minds the entire day…Harry. It was supper time and he wasn't there. In fact, the last they had seen of him was just before lunchtime; he hadn't even shown up for his afternoon classes, and they were quietly arguing with one another over what they should do about it.

"No, Ron! We have to tell someone. Something is wrong, I just know it!"

"I know, Hermione. But you know how Harry is. If we tell McGonagall, than she'll tell Dumbledore, and Harry will be so mad at us that he'll stop speaking to us at all."

"Don't be ridiculous, Ron." Hermione was so flustered, that she completely forgot to correct Ron's disuse of their teachers' proper titles. "We have to do something and, besides, he's hardly talking to us as it is, so what difference will it make? It's not as if no one else has noticed it."

Ron looked up at the staff table, and sure enough, Professor McGonagall was leaned closer to Dumbledore from where she sat to his right, both of them discussing something in hushed voices, occasionally looking over to the empty seat on the bench that Ron and Hermione had saved for Harry.

With a shake of his head, Ron again pleaded with her. "Please, Hermione! Just wait one more day. Let's see if he'll talk to us tonight. You never know, he may tell us what's wrong."

Hermione looked at him doubtfully at that comment, but, un-wavered, he continued, "Just give him until tomorrow, then I'll go to McGonagall myself, I promise."

Hermione pursed her lips in frustration, but finally gave in. "Oh, alright, Ron. But remember…you promised, and I'm going to hold you to that."

Ron nodded his consent and they both turned back to their meals, eating in silence as the adults at the staff table held their own discussion.

oOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOo

Harry was only in the kitchen for as long as it took Dobby to bring him something to eat. Although Harry had only asked for a sandwich, the Hogwarts elves had seen fit to bring him, not only a sandwich, but a variety of fruit, a section of roast, buttered rolls, and even a large bowl filled with tapioca pudding. Harry turned up his nose when he saw the pudding, having never been partial to it, but he had been tempted enough by the delicious scents wafting his way from the platters full of food, that he ended up taking, not only his sandwich, but a buttered roll and an apple with him as he left.

He walked silently through the halls, winding his way past statues and up and down flights of stairs, and even through one of the secret passages that he knew about, until he had safely bypassed all areas of the castle that he thought might have students in them. It wasn't unusual for students to be leaving the Great Hall so early in the evening, having eaten their supper and choosing not to stay and chat with friends like most did. It was mainly the Ravenclaws who chose to retire to their rooms early as to allow extra study time in the evenings, but Harry wasn't taking any chances of meeting one of his house mates in one of the corridors.

Sticking his head from around a suit of armor before sneaking out from behind it, Harry had almost made it back outside to eat under the stars by what he was now considering 'his' tree, when a hand grasped onto the fabric that hung loosely over his bony shoulders, surprising him so badly that he dropped his meager supper, most of it staying where it landed, but the apple rolling across the floor and out of sight as it toppled down the steps leading into the dungeon.

"And pray tell, Potter, where it is you think you're going?"

Harry's eyes grew large when he heard the tone of voice his Potions professor was using, and any words he had been planning to use in his defense fled his mind, leaving him standing there working his mouth as he struggled to come up with something to say. He slowly turned around when the grasp on his robes had loosened, and his brain struggled to remember if Potions was one of the classes he had missed that day, for that might explain the contempt in Snape's voice.

However, the explanation for the man's anger came when he leaned closer to Harry's face and asked in a low timber of voice, "Do you not remember the detention you were assigned yesterday evening, or is it just that you see yourself as being too good as to have to bend to the rules of authority?"

Harry wasn't sure how to respond, but knowing that Snape would find fault with whatever he said regardless, he chose to bow his head and remain quiet. After all, that was what seemed to work best with Uncle Vernon when he got mad.

When Snape saw that no answer was forthcoming, he gave Harry's robes a hard shake in his annoyance and sneered down at the teen. "What…Are you suddenly above having to answer to your superiors? Well, Boy!"

Harry flinched at the term the man used, the shouted word too closely mimicking the tone Uncle Vernon used when he was angry. Snape watched the as boy clamped his eyes shut and jerked his head away, but still being held at bay by Snape's hold on the back of his robes, Harry only seceded in hurting his neck as his collar dug roughly into it. It took the teen a moment or two to remember where he was and he took several steadying breaths to calm his now racing heart, slowly opening his eyes as if worried about what he would find when he did.

It was only from experience that Snape was able to keep his expression neutral, but inside, his mind was racing with possibility after possibility of what would cause the teen to react like that, none of them being favorable. Deciding to rely on his vast experience as a spy, he reasoned that the best course of action would be to just keep an eye on the boy as the Headmaster had suggested, and perhaps the answer would make itself known in time.

Snape released Harry's robes, almost sending the boy reeling to the ground when his center of balance was so rapidly changed. Calming some almost instantly, Harry straightened his posture, running his hands over the front of his robes as if to smooth the wrinkles out, but Snape could tell by the slight tremors in those hands that the action was done merely as a nervous gesture, something to focus on in order to distance one's self from a situation.

Giving the boy a few moments to collect himself, Snape cleared his throat, effectively drawing the young Gryffindor's gaze upward, where their eyes meet for a mere moment before the gaze was dropped again and Snape was once more staring at the top of Harry's head, the dark fringe of unruly hair poking out in all directions…_Just like his father's, _Snape thought. And that one notion let his resolve harden back to its previous state.

"It is ten past eight, Mister Potter." His voice started out low, gradually increasing in volume as he continued to speak. "You are already ten minutes late for your detention. And you have exactly three seconds to get moving before I make it a week's worth instead!"

Harry jumped at the harsh command, and he shot off like a bullet in the direction of the dungeons, completely forgetting about his supper that lay abandoned where they had fallen at Snape's feet.

It was with satisfaction that Severus watched that boy go tearing down to the Potions classroom. And he had taken but a step when the items on the floor caught his attention. Stooping to pick the objects up, he was surprised to find that what he had assumed was a bundle of cloth, was actually a paltry looking sandwich and a flattened looking roll all wrapped up in one of the white cloth napkins usually used by the staff during meals in the Great Hall.

Wrapping the cloth back around the items, he slid the entire bundle into one of the voluminous pockets of his robe and started along the same path Harry had taken moments before, but at the base of the stairs, almost completely hidden behind a statue of Dagny the Defiant, he saw an apple. Picking that up at well, he rubbed off the dirt that had collected on its surface, and dropped it into his other pocket.

Snape's walk through the lower floors of the castle were quick due to his long stride and brisk nature, and he was soon standing at the door of the Potions room, but there was no sign of Harry Potter anywhere within the corridor. Fuming with renewed rage, Snape threw open the door to the classroom with such force that it banged loudly against the wall, causing it to bounce back, partially closing it behind the man as he stepped into the room.

oOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOo

After leaving Snape's side, Harry ran the entire way to the Potions classroom. He was panting so hard when he got there, that he had to take a few moments to catch his breath. Expecting Snape to appear at any moment, Harry decided it would be best to go ahead and get started on his detention, thinking that it would be best not to risk his wrath anymore tonight than he already had.

Pushing open the door to the classroom, he made his way in, stopping halfway up the isle to return to the door. After insuring that the door was properly shut, he looked around for something to do and immediately spotted the pile of dirty cauldrons sitting in the back corner of the classroom behind the last row of desks. Rolling up the sleeves of his robe, he got busy washing the heavy, pewter cauldrons in the nearby sink.

He had only been at his task for a matter of a few minutes when the door banged open, flying back with such force that Harry was sure that he would have been knocked unconscious had he been standing just a few feet closer, the doorway being right next to where the sink was located. But instead, the door hit the wall and bounced back, almost shutting itself in the process.

What the door was doing, however, was soon lost on Harry as he stood in fear of what the opened door had let through. There stood Severus Snape, in a towering rage, with a look in his eyes that Harry recognized well. In his mixed state of shock and fear, Harry's fingers went lax, the wet, soapy cauldron slipping out of his grasp to fall with a loud clatter to the stone floor below.

oOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOo

Snape was standing mid-way down the isle that separated the desks from the potion workstations when he heard a horribly loud, clattering noise echoing through the room. He threw his gaze behind his with such force that his robes swayed around his body, but then his anger slowly faded as he took in what he was seeing.

Harry Potter was standing in the back of the classroom, his sleeves pushed up to his elbows, and soap suds dripping down the length of his bare arms to land in foamy drips about his feet, the dropped caldron still rocking back and forth on its rounded side. The child was staring at him with wide, fearful eyes, unable to look away or move out of fright.

Making a conscience effort to school his features to something less threatening, he directed him, "Carry on, Potter. I want that whole stack to be spotless before you leave."

That apparently broke the spell the boy seemed to be under, and he hurriedly snatched up the fallen cauldron, dashing to the sink and continuing his work as if nothing had happened.

Snape, on the other hand, had started having suspicions about the weird behavior, and he routinely passed by the sink under the guise of placing ingredients on the nearby shelf, watching the boy out of the corner of his eye as he did so. It wasn't until he was on his twelfth pass by the sink, near the end of the detention, that he noticed Harry's hands, or more precisely, his left hand.

The boy seemed oblivious to Snape's observations, and the man stopped to pretend to inspect the cleanliness of the finished cauldrons so he could get a closer look at the hand. Yes, just as he thought he'd seen…a scar running across the palm of the hand from the base of his pinky to the bottom-most joint of his thumb. The scar was just slightly raised, indicating that the injury was neither very deep, nor sloppy; it must have been caused by something sharp then. And its color…the light pink of the scar indicated that it was relatively new, so this was no quidditch injury or the like. No, this happened sometime during the summer, Snape was almost positive of it.

He supposed it was just luck that Potter had not known that glamour charms stopped at the user's wrists, designed that way so that the magic of the charm would not interfere with any spells that the user might want to cast. Yes, the boy's usual lack of studious habits worked in Snape's favor this time, and he smirked to himself as he looked one last time at the old injury.

Filing this bit of new information into the back of his head, he had just about decided to tell the boy to go for the evening, but then he remembered the food he had recovered from the floor earlier, and his interest was piqued once more. He had been in the Great Hall during supper, and he had noticed the teen's absence just as well as Minerva and Albus had. He had even shared a dark look with his old friend that confirmed it. He knew that Potter had skipped eating supper with his peers yet again.

Walking back to his desk, he purposely spoke in a tone just loud enough that it insured that Harry could hear it clearly. He called one of the Hogwarts elves and then instructed it on what to do.

"Bring a sandwich, and a bowl of assorted fruit. I want a pitcher of pumpkin juice as well, as swiftly as possible."

The small elf wrung the towel she wore with the Hogwarts crest on it in her small hands. "Does Master Snape, sir, want cups, too?"

Snape narrowed his eyes at the creature as if to say 'isn't it obvious?' and the little, grey creature popped out of view, only to pop back in under a minute with the requested items.

Harry had just dried off his hands and was walking up the aisle to ask if he could leave for the night when he spotted the food. His stomach rumbled in hunger, and he bit his lip as it that would make the rumbling noises stop. When he got within a few steps of Snape's desk, the man released an exaggerated sigh and said as if talking to himself, "Those blasted elves! They can't even make a sandwich right."

He made a show of pushing the untouched sandwich away from himself, the platter on which it rested stopping within inches of the side of the desk closest to Harry. Snape then looked through the bowl of fruit, plucking out a handful of grapes. Noticing the teen now watching him, Snape poured himself a cup of pumpkin juice, tasted it and wrinkled his nose somewhat at it.

"Much too sweet for my tastes." He then looked up, made eye contact with the youth standing close-by and ordered him, "Potter, do you know where the kitchens are?"

When Harry responded with a hesitant nod, Snape continued, "Good. You may leave for the evening, but I want you to take these things back to the kitchens and tell those elves to find someone else to give them to. That is all for tonight."

Taking the dismissal for what it was, Harry set the sandwich into the bowl, placing its platter underneath the bowl. After balancing the items in his left hand, he grabbed up the pitcher of juice with his other hand, preparing to leave the room.

"Potter."

He turned back to face Snape, but the man merely placed the one remaining empty cup in the bowl next to the sandwich and said, "Be on your way."

Harry finally got to leave after that and he didn't stop walking until he had climbed two sets of stairs and had rounded several corners; then, after slipping into a little-used passage way, he sat himself on the ground, and inspected the food. The sandwich was the exact same kind he had asked Dobby for earlier in the kitchen, and there were several pieces of fruit to choose from within the glass bowl in which they sat.

He lifted the sandwich out and held it to his mouth, debating on whether he should obey Snape's orders and return the food to the kitchen, or if he should just obey his own bodily needs. As his stomach grumbled loudly again, he didn't hesitate a moment longer. He brought the sandwich up and took a large bite of it, smiling for the first time all day as the taste of the roast beef hit his tongue.

He stayed in the abandoned corridor eating for almost half an hour before he realized how late it had gotten, and he scooped the partially empty dishware up, intent on returning the items to the kitchen as he was asked, and hoped he would not get in trouble for being up past curfew.

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**A/N**: Wow, that chapter took a long time to write. I wrote it three times before I was happy with the way it turned out. So, do you all like it so far? I almost cut out the part where Snape ordered some food from the kitchen. I was worried that I was straying too far from his usual temperament, but then decided that I would show that he was capable of even a little compassion, even if he's too snarky to admit it to anyone… even himself.

As always, **please post a review**. Let me know what you think about this chapter, and if anyone has any ideas or suggestions for things they might like to see written into the story, do let me know. I always try my best to please my readers. Thanks to you all!!


	7. Fighting Slytherins and Alcohol

Disclaimer: None of the characters are mine but Stroper…lucky me…NOT!

Warning: This chapter contains curse words, alcohol use (obvious if you read the title), and the mention of cutting.

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Where Do I Go From Here?

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Chap. 7 Fighting Slytherins and Alcohol

Harry stood in a darkened corridor, just minutes after returning the dishes to the kitchen. He had been on his way back to Gryffindor tower, hoping that he would meet no one on the way considering how late it was, but halfway there he heard the low rumble of voices from up ahead, and had hid in the first spot he could find. Unfortunately, there were no tapestries or statues to hide behind, and the corridor led nowhere; it merely ended a few meters from where it started and held nothing but closed and locked doors.

The voices got closer and Harry pressed his body into the shadows, bumping his head against the wall with a _thump_ as he backed up too far. The voice that had been talking suddenly grew quiet, and Harry held his breath in fear that he had been heard. But when the low chatter resumed moments later, Harry blew his breath out in relief, and he strained his ears to listen intently to the words being said in his effort to identify the speaker.

The male voice spoke again, and Harry felt as if his heart had lodged in his throat. Of all the people who he could have run into after curfew, it just _had_ to be _Malfoy_! And to make matters worse, he knew the boy had been made a prefect; Ron had complained about that very fact for over an hour that morning.

Harry pushed himself tighter up against the stone wall as Malfoy rounded a corner and started heading down the main corridor, right in Harry's direction. He could hear the footsteps stop just beyond the hallway where he was hiding, and after a few minutes of silence, he cautiously stuck his head forward, catching a glimpse of the individuals standing so close now. Yes, it was definitely Malfoy, but the other person was some girl with long, brown hair that she all tied up neatly in a ponytail. Harry didn't know the girl's name, but he was able to tell from the colors she wore that she was a Ravenclaw. He had seen her around before, but what would she be doing with Malfoy?

His question was answered a moment later when Draco wrapped an arm around her and pulled her closer. Harry watched as Draco slid his hands provocatively over the girl's body and then he drew his face up in disgust as the pale Slytherin began kissing the girl, and he withdrew into the shadows, having no desire whatsoever to watch his rival making out with some girl. Soon, Harry could hear the two say goodnight to each other, and Harry leaned forward again, just in time to see the girl head off, presumably in the direction of her common room.

She had just disappeared from view when Draco spoke out loud.

"So, Potter, is this what you usually do with your spare time?"

Harry almost jumped in alarm at having been spoken to so abruptly when he had thought himself well hidden, and he clutched his wand at his side as he stepped out of his hiding spot. Draco turned to face him, with his wand in hand as well, and the Slytherin sneered in contempt at the boy in front of him.

"I know you were watching us. Did you like the show?"

Harry had no answer to that, and he raised his wand slightly, ready for anything.

"You're such a pervert, Potter. Wait until I tell the whole of Slytherin that Gryffindor's Golden Boy gets his kicks watching others make out from where he hides around corners."

"I wasn't watching you!" Harry tried his best to sound defiant, but the slight shakiness of his voice just made the comment sound feeble more than anything else, and he bit his lip in anger at himself for sounding so weak.

"The hell you weren't, Potter. You were there watching us the whole time. Admit it."

"Fuck you!" Harry turned on his heel, so desperate to get out of the confrontation that he didn't care whether he was heading in the right direction or not. He had only made a few steps in that route when he heard Malfoy's voice behind him utter something in indecipherable to Harry's ears; but when a purple light shot over his shoulder, hitting the stone wall to his right, he knew that the Slytherin had fired a spell. Once he realized what was happening, but before he was able to turn to defend himself, he heard the boy mutter something else and Harry cringed in expectation of some form of pain.

Suddenly, a loud, gruff sounding voice called out a spell unknown to Harry, and for a moment, he was encased in a glowing blue bubble that dissipated after absorbing the spell Malfoy had shot at him. Harry slowly raised his head to see who his defender was, but all he could see were dark robes hanging from around someone's shoulders. He looked past the man's back and could see Malfoy fleeing, and he stood stock still as the man turned to face him.

He was shocked when he realized that it was Stroper standing there. The man was grinning as he tucked his wand away, and Harry found himself unable to say more than a quiet 'thank you' to the man when he stopped in front of him. Stroper looked Harry up and down and grabbed him by the arm, leading him up the corridor as if he were a wayward child.

"W-where are we going, Sir?" Harry stammered out, and he cringed a little when Stroper peered at him from over his shoulder and gave him a calculating look.

"We're going to my office."

Harry waited for a while for the man to say more, but Stroper remained silent as they continued their walk through the empty halls of Hogwarts, the only sounds being the rhythmic footfalls of the man's boots on the stone floor. He was getting more anxious by the minute, so he finally got the nerve to ask, "But why? I've not done anything wrong."

Stroper raised an eyebrow at him and reminded him, "Isn't it past curfew?"

Harry gulped as he remembered, and he spent the rest of the journey getting more and more nervous in fear of what the man would do to him. He barely paid attention to where they were going, and it seemed as if just an instant had passed before they were both standing in front of the door to the man's office.

Harry watched as Stroper raised his wand and tapped the tip of it against the doorknob, which glowed slightly before a barely audible click sounded, signaling that the door was now unlocked. The professor swung the door open and guided Harry in, depositing him onto a straight-backed wooden chair that sat next to the desk. Harry sat silently in wait as the man then walked around and sat in his own chair. When Harry heard his Professor 'humph' he slowly raised his gaze to him.

Stroper was giving Harry a slightly quizzical look as he commented, "Geez, boy, you act as if I were about to use you as bait for Death Eaters."

The statement was meant as a joke, but Stroper watched as the boy's eyes got big and he was quick to explain.

"You do realize I said that merely in jest, don't you?"

Harry's cheeks reddened a bit as he answered, "Yes, Sir." The truth of the matter was that, considering the man's line of work, Harry had assumed that Stroper might just do that. Any further thought on that, however, was cut short as the man spoke again.

"Also, you should know that you're not in any trouble tonight; not for being out past curfew, nor for your altercation with _Malfoy_."

Harry picked up on the amount of distain used when Stroper said Draco's last name, and he sent his professor a questioning look. Stroper understood the silent inquiry, and he clarified, "That little snot is the son of a Death Eater."

Harry knew this, but he didn't interrupt as Stroper continued to talk.

"I have gone up to the ministry myself to testify about Lucius Malfoy's involvement with You-Know-Who, for all the good it did. You know, I've seen that man with my own eyes consorting with other known Death Eaters, but apparently, that makes no difference at all as long as Lucius is there with enough money to line the pockets of everyone from Fudge on down."

Harry was relieved that at least one professor in the school shared his view where the Malfoys were concerned, and he was able to relax a little with that knowledge. He leaned forward in his seat and asked, "Sir, if I'm not in trouble, why did you bring me to your office?"

"I figured it would be safer for you to wait a while before heading back. Malfoy ran off before I had a chance to hex the little prat, so he very well could be waiting for you somewhere in-route to Gryffindor tower. I didn't think you'd be so keen on dealing with an ambush by a fellow student this late at night."

"Oh." The thought had not even occurred to him, but now that he thought about it, that did sound like something Draco might do. "How long should I stay then, Sir?"

"I'd say for at least the next half-hour or so."

Harry didn't mind too much. At least this way, he wouldn't have to deal with any of his dorm mates, and he would have a valid excuse to give them for why he was getting back so late. But then a thought occurred to him and he asked, "But, Sir, won't I get in trouble if anyone finds out. I thought we could only stay up past curfew if we were in detention. Professor McGonagall will have been notified when I left my detention tonight. She'll know I didn't go straight back to the tower."

"Don't worry about it, Harry. If she asks, just tell her I had you start your training early."

Stroper wanted him to lie to Professor McGonagall? That woman knew everything when it came to her precious Gryffindors; how would he be able to get away with something like that?

Stroper picked up on the indecisiveness on Harry's face and was quick to reassure him, "I told you not to worry about it. No one will know you're not training. Both this room and the classroom beyond are spelled with protective wards to prevent anyone from hearing anything that goes on from within whenever the doors are closed. I've even removed the portraits from the walls of both rooms."

Stroper let a self-satisfied look cross his face as he continued, "I set it up that way as a privacy measure. Call me paranoid if you like, but you don't last long in my usual line of work without being at least a little over-zealous when it comes to those sorts of things. After all, spies could be anywhere, even in a castle as protected as this one."

Harry didn't know whether the man was referring solely to the few children of Death Eaters that attended, or whether the man was referring to others. But then Snape came to mind and Harry couldn't help but wonder who would win that fight if Stroper ever crossed wands with Hogwarts' most feared professor. Unable to help the snort of amusement that escaped his lips, Harry quickly looked up to see that Stroper was once again staring at him. He straightened up in his chair and tried to ignore it, but he felt as if the man's eyes were burning holes into him with the intensity of the gaze and he squirmed uncomfortably in his seat.

"What's the matter with you, Boy? You seem awfully jumpy."

Stroper's observation came out sounding like an accusation, at least to Harry's ears, and he cast about for an excuse as he fidgeted in his seat.

"Uh, it's nothing, really. I guess it's just from having been surprised by Malfoy like that."

Harry knew that his explanation sounded ridiculous, but he never had been able to come up with good excuses on the spot like that. That particular talent had always been more Ron or Hermione's forte than his own, and he could tell that Stroper wasn't convinced.

The only acknowledgement that Stroper gave in return was a small grunt as the man hoisted himself from his seat and walked over to a tall wooden cabinet in the back of the room. From where he was sitting, Harry could barely make out the intricate designs carved all over the fronts of the darkly stained cabinet doors, and he could see nothing of what the man was doing once the doors swung open. The shelves within, along with the many small bottles sitting on them, were hidden from view as Stroper stepped closer to the cabinet, blocking everything contained in the mysterious cabinet from sight.

The tinkle of glass against glass sounded through the room as Stroper turned from the cabinet and headed back to his desk, the cabinet doors swinging closed of their own accord before Harry could see any more. Harry returned his attention back to Professor Stroper, and he saw that the man was now holding a filled glass cup in each hand.

Stroper sat one of the cups in front of Harry before sitting back down in his own seat, the amber liquid within his cup sloshing a little over the edge of the glass with the momentum of the movement. But the man didn't seem to mind, and he tipped his glass in Harry's direction and said, "Drink up, Harry. It will settle your nerves."

Harry slid his glass closer and peered inside it, wondering to himself if there was any way out of this situation. First of all, he wasn't sure what was in the cup. He figured it was some type of liquor, but surely, the professor would not willingly give him something like that…would he?

Harry tipped the cup from side to side a little, letting the liquid slosh back and forth some as he pondered what to do, but then he reasoned that if Dumbledore trusted this man, than perhaps he should, too. Besides, what harm could one little glass of this stuff do to him?

Having never had any type of alcoholic beverage before, curiosity got the better of him, and he raised the cup to his lips and took a sip. Almost immediately, he spit the small mouthful of stuff back out, spraying the desktop in front of him with a splattering of the strong tasting liquor. Stroper burst out laughing and Harry could feel his face heat in embarrassment.

The last thing Harry wanted was yet another person thinking he was stupid and weak, so with his brow lowered in a look of determination, he took a deep breath, raised the cup to his lips again, and drank as quickly as he could. His free hand clenched into a tight fist at the first swallow of the foul concoction, and Harry could feel the stuff burn its way over his tongue and down his throat. He was able to get down almost a quarter of the glass before quickly setting it down. Coughing and spluttering so hard his eyes began to tear up, Harry was already regretting his rash decision.

He chanced a look up as soon as his coughing fit subsided and noticed how pleased Stroper seemed to be. _Perhaps_, thought Harry, _I did the right thing_. Deciding that he was glad he had shown his professor that he was able to do it after all, Harry took another deep breath, readying himself for another sip. The next few mouthfuls went down easier than the ones before it, and Harry relaxed as the alcohol began to make him feel mellow.

Stroper didn't talk much as the minutes ticked by, merely asking Harry a question every now and then. At first, Harry would only give the man short answers, still too nervous to say more than a few words at a time, but before long, Harry found himself telling Stroper all about Hogwarts.

Harry had just started telling the professor about Moaning Myrtle when he drank the last bit from his cup. He looked back at Stroper and realized that the man still had most of his drink left. Shrugging it off, he began explaining why everyone avoids that particular bathroom on the fifth floor when he noticed how slurred his words came out. He stopped talking almost immediately.

Deciding it was just an effect of the alcohol, Harry pushed it to the back of his mind. But when he tried to shift in his seat to make himself more comfortable, he discovered he was having trouble coordinating his movement, his limbs feeling as if lead weights had been tied to them. Now, he was truly alarmed, and he struggled to rise from his seat as his sight began to blur.

Harry finally managed to stand upright, his hands gripping the desktop so tightly his knuckles were white, but then spots of blackness began to swim before his eyes. Trying to yell out in his alarm, he panicked when the only noise that came out was a feeble, inarticulate sound that was more like the call of a half-dead kitten than a plea for help.

Falling forward onto the desk, and then sliding down to the floor, Harry desperately sought out his professor, finally getting a glimpse of the man just before hitting the stones below. The last thing Harry saw before everything turned black was Stroper's stoic face as he sat passively in his seat, watching as Harry finally lost his fight with the oncoming darkness.

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Light was hitting Harry's eyes, and he groaned out as pain shot through his head in matching rhythm to his heartbeat. Bringing his arms up and shielding his face from the light, he blinked a few times and looked around in confusion. _Where am I, _he wondered. He slowly picked himself up from the floor, holding onto the wall as he did so, afraid that he would fall if he did not do so. The dizziness faded away after a few minutes, and Harry looked around trying to sort out his thoughts.

He realized he was in one of Hogwarts' many corridors, and judging from the view from the nearby window, he was about four or five floors up. Walking a few paces to the end of the corridor, he turned the corner and realized where he was; for at the end of the next corridor was the door to Moaning Myrtle's bathroom. _Yes_, he thought,_ I do remember something last night that had to do with Myrtle's bathroom…_But for the life of him, he could not remember any other details.

Scratching his head in confusion, Harry stumbled his way toward the closest set of stairs that would take him to Gryffindor tower. On the way to his dorm, he finally came to the conclusion that he must have fallen asleep in one of the corridors on his way back from Snape's detention the night before.

Stopping just outside the portrait of the Fat Lady, Harry stretched his arms and legs, wondering if his sore, stiff muscles were due to having spent the night sleeping on the stone floor. He shook his head in bewilderment and said the password. Making his way through the portrait hole, he ignored the astonished gasps of a few third year students who he passed, and he trudged up the steps to his dorm room.

To his relief, he entered the room and found it blessedly empty. He pulled out his wand, and after a quick _Tempus _charm, Harry discovered that the rest of his dorm mates must be down in the Great Hall for breakfast. Grabbing a few items from his trunk, Harry made his way to the bathroom for a quick shower. He had decided that a nice long spray of cold water might ease some of the tiredness from his body and see him through yet another day of classes.

It wasn't until he passed by the mirror over one of the sinks that he realized just why those third years had reacted like they had. In his haste to return to the dorm, he had forgotten to recast his glamour charm like he was supposed to that morning. He sifted through the belongings he had brought into the bathroom with him and pulled out his wand. Locking the bathroom door, he took a few moments to study his reflection in the mirror and almost didn't recognize himself. His hair was even wilder looking than usual, and his pale skin was highlighted with several small, dark bruises that were littered about his neck and chest, clearly visable through the gap at the top of his partially unbuttoned shirt.

He grazed a finger over the marks and winced at the soreness the action caused. He stopped with a finger still hovering over the mark near his left shoulder. He didn't remember getting these marks at all. Leaning closer to the mirror, Harry followed the shape of the largest mark with his fingertip and was perplexed when he noticed that the shape was almost like that of a bite mark.

Not knowing what to think about the situation, Harry stepped into the shower and turned on the tap. Cold water blasted out and he gasped as the chilly spray made contact with his skin. He finished as quickly as he could and hurried to get dressed. Stopping once again in front of the mirror on his way out, Harry cast his glamour charm, grimacing a little as he watched his reflection warp and then solidify into the image that he now hid behind. Just the remembrance of why he was forced to do such a thing had him reaching for his knife as soon as he could get back to his trunk.

Meanwhile, several third year Gryffindor students were knocking on the office door to their Head of House, and were surprised when the door opened, revealing not only Professor McGonagall, but also both of Gryffindor's prefects where they sat at their Head's desk.

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**A/N**: This chapter was a lot easier to write than the last one was. I know this one is a tad shorter than the last one, but I've had a total of 9 kids at my house since Friday, and all of them under the age of 13…AHHH! What was I thinking?! I'm letting some kids from the children's home stay here for a week, so it's been crazy here and I was lucky to find any time to write at all. And on top of it all, my husband is having surgery today, so I'm writing this as I'm waiting for word from the doctor on how the surgery went.

I will try to have the next chapter posted by July 9th, but I can't make any promises about that yet. After that date, I'll be leaving on vacation for a week and a half to stay in a cabin in the middle of the woods with **NO** t.v., **No** phone, and absolutely** No** chance of having a way for me to access the internet. So, if I don't have the next chapter posted by the 9th, then it will unfortunately have to wait until I get back. Sorry all. I will try very hard to have the next chapter posted by then.

Now, one of my readers brought up the question about why Ron and Hermione didn't notice the new scar on Harry's palm, and I wanted to explain my reasoning in case anyone else was wondering the same thing. Even though Ron and Harry are close, how often do you examine your best friend's palms? They just didn't notice yet. After all, they've only been back to school for one day. Snape noticed because he was looking for something, and since Harry was washing cauldrons, it drew Snape's attention to his hands.

Lastly, I would like my faithful readers to let me know what they would like to see in the next couple of chapters…Do you want more Malfoy interaction? Perhaps a visit from Remus? Maybe Snape should confront Harry himself?

Please let me know, and I'll tailor the next chapter to whichever idea gets the biggest response.

Also, **PLEASE** don't forget to review. If you like the story at all, please let me know. Your reviews feed my muse. Thanks to you all!


	8. Secrets Unfold

Disclaimer: J.K.R. lets me play with her characters as long as I put them back when I'm done…Happy me!

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Where Do I Go From Here?

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Chap. 8 Secrets Unfold

Harry hurried to get to class on time, forgoing breakfast altogether in his haste. As he walked up behind the throng of students entering through the classroom door, he looked around for Ron and Hermione. Not spotting them anywhere, he was instantly relieved.

The entire journey from the Gryffindor tower to the dungeons, Harry had been dreading running into his friends. He knew they were worried about him and he had been trying to avoid the confrontation that he knew would be coming; surely, they would be wanting an explanation for his disappearance last night, but what could he tell them when he wasn't really sure himself exactly what happened.

He slipped through the door and took a seat at an empty table in the back, hoping that Snape would not notice the fact that he did not have his Potions book. As the last few minutes before class ticked by, Harry began to grow concerned. For despite the fact that he was avoiding his friends, it worried him that they seemed to be the only two missing from the room.

Before Harry could think any more on this development, Snape entered by way of the door in the front of the room that led to the man's office. With a flick of his wrist, Snape spelled the doors closed with a resounding bang, and Harry nearly jumped from his seat due to the sudden noise. A few of the other students sitting close-by turned in their seats to stare at him for his odd behavior and he couldn't help the red tint his cheeks took in his embarrassment.

He was saved any further annoyance from the other students when Snape started the lesson, everyone snatching out their parchment and quills to take notes, and Harry pulled his out as well. But he didn't get more than a few sentences scratched onto the paper before the classroom door opened and Hermione and Ron walked through. Ron sought out Harry, immediately spotting him, and he walked over to the empty seat beside the raven haired teen.

Harry glanced at Ron, but bit his lip when he noticed that Ron seemed to be avoiding making eye contact with him. He then looked to see what Hermione was doing and he saw her hand Snape a folded piece of parchment before she, too, made her way to a seat close to them. Harry watched as Snape opened the paper, scanned over its contents, and then tucked it into his pocket without a word. Before Hermione was even able to pull her quill from her bag, Snape had picked up the lesson where he had left off, and Harry watched as his friend scrambled in frustration to get her supplies out, finally freeing her quill and ink, and then scribbling down notes as quickly as she could in an effort to catch up.

Their first Potions lesson of the school year turned out to be a demanding one, and Harry was thankful that they were all kept too busy for his friends to have time enough to do more than cast an anxious glance his way every now and then. He was counting down the minutes before he would be able to escape at the sound of the bell that indicated the end of the class period, but five minutes short of the bell, there was a timid knock on the classroom door.

Obviously irritated, Snape stalked over to the door and threw it open, sneering down at the young student standing there. Harry watched the interaction from over his shoulder, not able to make out any of their conversation from where he was sitting, but as the student turned to leave, Harry recognized the girl as one of the third year Gryffindors he has passed that morning on his way into the common room.

The girl had hurried away as soon as her message was passed along and Snape turned from where he stood, glaring in Harry's direction. Harry quickly focused his eyes on the page full of sloppily taken notes in front of him, praying that Snape had not realized he had been attempting to eavesdrop, but all hope of it escaping the man's attention fled Harry's mind when he heard that hard-as-stone voice command, "Potter!"

Harry's heart hammered in his chest as he nervously addressed his professor.

"Yes, Sir?"

But all worries of being reprimanded were dispelled when Snape went on to say, "The Headmaster has requested your presence in his office. Go at once."

The simple dismissal shocked Harry at first and he was motionless for a few moments until Snape raised an sardonic eyebrow at him, and then Harry flew to get his things packed away in his bag, dreading that if he took too much time, his professor would make some sort of cutting remark to him; and he wasn't sure how he'd handle a dose of public humiliation after the rough morning he'd already had. He looked back only once as he was walking out, but in that instant, he caught both Ron and Hermione looking at him in a pained way and that sight alone troubled his mind all the way to Dumbledore's office.

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"Ah, yes! Do come in, Harry."

Dumbledore smiled genially at him, and Harry settled himself in the same comfortable chair he had sat in just the day before. Harry set his bag on the floor at his feet as he watched the Headmaster rise from his chair. The old man paced over to the bookshelf along the far wall, and when he returned, Harry could see that he was carrying a stack of books.

"Your books arrived this morning, Harry. I trust you have everything you need for your classes now?"

"Um, yes, Sir. Thank you." Harry wasn't sure what more to say than that, and he took the offered books from Dumbledore when the man held them out to him. Placing the books into his satchel one-by-one, Harry looked up and noticed that Dumbledore's smile seemed to have faded a bit. Worried about what that might imply, Harry was suddenly eager to leave and he pulled his now-full, and very heavy, bag up onto his shoulder. Harry stood up and announced, "Well, Sir, I should probably be getting back to class now."

But instead of the dismissal he had been hoping for, Dumbledore motioned Harry back into his seat and a long pause followed before the old man spoke.

"Harry…There was another reason I asked you to come here today."

Harry gulped, wondering what in the world he had done wrong now.

"It has come to my attention," Dumbledore explained, "that you seemed to have started this school term on the wrong foot, so to speak."

Dumbledore paused as if expecting Harry to reply in some fashion, but when that didn't happen, he went on to say, "I have been informed that, already, you have skipped classes, gotten a detention, and failed to return to your dorm room last night. Need I remind you, Harry, that it is only the second day of the term."

The sternness in the Headmaster's voice ebbed away, only to be replaced with concern as he stated, "Harry, I can't help but worry when I find that one of my best pupils is acting in such a manner. Is there anything you wish to tell me that would explain any of this?"

Harry nervously twisted his fingers where they sat in his lap, unable to make himself look Dumbledore in the eye. There was so much he wanted to say, yet felt unable to. No, he would not be sharing his secrets with anyone. He refused to have anyone look at him in pity, especially the Headmaster. He knew the wizarding world was expecting him to defeat Voldemort someday, so what would they think of him if they knew how weak he was; he wasn't even able to defend himself from some pitiful muggles!

Dumbledore watched the emotions flicker across the young face in front of him. First came the look of fragile hope, followed by the look of disgust and self-loathing, and last of all came the look of angry resignation. It pained the elderly wizard to see Harry troubled so, but he patiently waited, nevertheless, to see if the boy would open up to him. When the silence stretched on for several more minutes, Dumbledore acknowledged his defeat with a sigh.

Harry's attention was drawn away from his morbid thoughts by the weary sounding sigh. He looked up and saw the Headmaster rising from his chair again. Harry stood as well, hefting his bag onto his shoulder as he did so. Dumbledore walked around the desk, clapped a warm hand onto Harry's shoulder, ignoring the small flinch from the boy, and then requested, "Follow me, please, Harry."

Dumbledore led the way, and soon they were both making their way through the castle. Harry was too lost in thought to give much concern to where they were headed, so it was with surprise that he finally looked up to see that they were now standing in front of the infirmary doors. Harry's heart leapt into his throat.

"W-why did you bring me here, Sir?" Harry almost cringed in repulsion at how pathetically weak his voice sounded at the moment and he cleared his throat in the hope that the action would help. He looked up questioningly and Dumbledore wrapped an arm around the teen's shoulder as he guided Harry into the large, white, sterile looking room.

The arm around him didn't feel comforting at all in Harry's opinion. It felt more like it was an attempt to keep him within arm's reach than as a gesture of reassurance, and he shrugged his way out from under its weight.

Dumbledore gave Harry a pat on the back as he explained, "Not to worry, Harry, you're not in any trouble; but I still would like Madam Pomfrey to give you a check up, if you don't mind."

"But why?" Harry was starting to panic. Would Pomfrey be able to detect his injuries through the glamour charm? Or even worse, Harry's mind reeled, she could find out about the cutting! Harry stopped in his tracks, glancing over his shoulder to see how far away the exit was as Dumbledore, stopped now as well, turned to face him with a solemn look on his face,

"Harry, this morning, several students saw your true appearance and were gravely concerned that something had happened to you."

"What?!" Panic truly set in now, and Harry started to back up closer and closer to the doors as he tried to lie his way out of the situation he was in.

"I don't know w-what you're talking about. This is m-my true appearance!"

Dumbledore's face fell into a look of deep sorrow and he stood stationary as he explained further.

"Harry, I know you're using a glamour charm."

The statement was short and simple, but it almost brought Harry to his knees. He threw his hand out to balance himself against the railing on one of the beds and stood still for a few moments until his head stopped spinning. All of a sudden he felt the need to escape the situation and, on impulse, he turned to run, but smacked face first into a warm body.

Strong hands grabbed onto his shoulders and he clenched his eyes shut, trying to jerk away, but he was soon brought out of it by a hard, demanding voice telling him to, "Be still, Potter!"

Harry threw his eyes open in shock and saw that it was Snape holding onto him. He jerked his body again in the vain hope of release, but when that didn't happen, he went slack in resignation and slowly sank to the floor, Snape's hands following his path downward, not leaving his shoulders until he was fully sitting on the floor.

Harry drew his knees toward his chest and wrapped his arms around them, unable to keep himself from taking up the same defensive posture he'd had to adopt so often in his relatives' house. Lowering his face until it was hidden against his knees, he struggled to hold back the tears of defeat that had already started running down his cheeks.

Snape watched Potter's antics and was barely able to restrain himself from making some caustic remark out of habit. The Headmaster signaled for him to stay by Harry's side as he wandered off in search of Madam Pomfrey. Harry stayed where he was at on the floor while Snape was trying his hardest to pretend he couldn't hear the soft sobs escaping the boy's shaking form. Dumbledore returned with the medi-witch moments later and she stooped down so she could address Harry at eye-level.

"Come now, Mister Potter, onto one of the beds for me." She placed her hand along his arm and gently pulled him into a standing position as she spoke. "You'll catch your death of cold sitting on that drafty floor."

Harry reluctantly allowed himself to be guided a few steps to the closest bed and he sank bonelessly down onto it, turning his back to the three adults. Poppy then covered him with a blanket, raising her brow in surprise when he grabbed the end of it and brought it even farther up, pulling it over his face until all that could be seen was a tuft of his black hair poking out the top.

"Now," she turned her attention to the two men standing nearby, "what ails Mister Potter today?"

In whispered words, Dumbledore conveyed his assumptions to the medi-witch, and Snape watched in silence as the witch's face grew a determined look about it. She stepped forward once the explanation was given and gently tugged the blanket away from the boy's face. Harry was unwilling to give it up at first, but Poppy was nothing if not determined and, after struggling a minute or two, she finally won out. Harry immediately brought his hands up to cover his face, and upon seeing the boy's quivering body curled up in fear, the three adults shared a look that had Severus pacing over to the infirmary's storeroom to fetch a bottle of Calming Draught.

Walking back up to the bed, Snape handed Poppy the bottle and she measured out the proper dose into a small cup, setting the remainder of the bottle onto the nightstand. She leaned over Harry and gave his shoulder a light squeeze.

"Harry, I need you to take this. It is a Calming Draught, dear, and it will help you feel better."

But after several attempts, Poppy had still not received any reply, and so, Snape took the cup from her hand, marched around to the other side of the bed, and kneeled down. Grasping both of the skinny wrists in one hand, Snape slowly pulled Harry's hands down and out of the way, restraining them to the boy's chest. Harry had his eyes clenched shut, and he was already clearly starting to hyperventilate.

Snape pushed the cup's rim up to the boy's mouth and pressed it there until Harry's lips parted enough to allow him to quickly pour the potion in.

Harry's eyes flew open when the chalky tasting substance hit his tongue and he took a deep breath so that he could spit the stuff back out, but then a strong hand clamped over his mouth and he struggled to free himself of it, tossing his head from side to side as the rest of his body joined in the fight, his legs kicking out but catching nothing but air. He felt something hard press lightly against his neck, and when he heard Madam Pomfrey cast a spell, he instantly knew that it was her wand that was poking him.

Upon completion of the spell, Harry could feel his throat work without his consent and he involuntarily swallowed the potion, finally stopping his struggling when Snape's hands left his body a moment later. Exhausted by the ordeal, Harry lay quietly panting on the bed as the potion began to make his body go limp against his will, and he let his eyes drift mostly closed as the medi-witch repositioned his curled-up body on the bed.

Once that was done, Madam Pomfrey got to work right away. Casting the counter charm to several different glamour charms until she got the right one, they all watched in fascination as Harry's false image wavered and then melted away, leaving his true form there for them all to see.

Poppy's breath audibly hitched, and Dumbledore's jaw fell slack in an uncharacteristic show of shock. Snape however, always the most stoic as a rule, showed little, if any, sign of surprise. He merely raised an eyebrow at the wounded Savior of the Wizarding World and waited to see what would happen. Earlier today, when passed the note from Dumbledore requesting his presence in the infirmary at the end of his first class, Snape had immediately assumed it was to get an inventory of which potions needed to be re-stocked. What a surprise it was to instead be witness to the breakdown of the frail looking teen before him.

Poppy was the first to get over her shock, and she quickly cast a few spells that would measure Harry's health. Moments later, the charmed quill on the bedside table nearby started to write on the piece of parchment that sat next to it, scratching out a highly detailed list of Harry's injuries. Without waiting for the list to be completed, Poppy leaned over the paper, read what was written so far, and began bustling about, grabbing up various healing potions and such.

Harry continued to lay silent as the commotion went on around him, drawing Snape's attention more fully, and the Potions professor stepped closer to the side of the bed in an effort to see Harry's appearance more clearly. The boy was definitely thin; his clothes seemed to hang off of him, and his skin was pale and marred with various bruises and cuts. Snape's eyes wandered down from Harry's face, down his neck to where the new bruises had appeared, and then down the length of the boy's skinny arms to where Snape could see many sets of short, straight cuts, some fresh, and others in various stages of healing.

Unable to stop himself, the Potions professor reached down, twisted Harry's arm a bit to allow him a closer look, and then ran a single fingertip down the boy's skin from the crook of his elbow, to where the cuts ceased near the wrist. Snape instantly knew what the marks meant, how could he not when so many of his Slytherins resorted to the same methods over the years, but he had never thought that Potter would do it as well. He had always thought the boy too…pure for that. Snape's brow drew down as it always did when he encountered something that altered his perception of what he considered to be truth, and he gently released the thin arm and stepped back, allowing Poppy to do her job.

As Snape moved out of the way, Poppy hurried forward and started administering the various potions she had carried over, pouring doses of several different ones into Harry's unresisting mouth. The stoic man watched in uninterrupted silence for several minutes until Dumbledore's somber voice distracted him from his thoughts.

"How could it have come to this?"

Snape turned to his friend and mentor, but had no answer to the question. Dumbledore, however, didn't seem to need an answer and Snape watched as the man stepped closer to Harry's still body, looking the boy over as Snape had just done minutes before. Dumbledore took longer than Snape had in discovering the series of cuts on the undersides of Harry's arms, and the Headmaster sighed as he allowed Harry's arm to slide out of his grasp until the boy's hand was held within his own, then he tightened his grip, holding Harry's hand in the same manner as what a parent might do for a sick child.

It was a long while before Poppy considered her task done, and she collapsed into a nearby chair, totally exhausted by the amount of magic she had to work to right the many wrongs done to the boy stretched out on the bed next to her. But it wasn't the physical wounds that had the adults so worried, it was the psychological state of the boy's mind, for none of them had even considered for a moment that _the Harry Potter_ would be subject to something as brutish as child abuse.

Of course, Dumbledore had known Harry would not be favored in his aunt's household, in fact that was one of the reasons he thought it would make a better living situation for the boy, certainly better than growing up in the wizarding world where his fame would ensure everything was handed to him on a golden platter. No, Dumbledore knew he would have to make sure the boy stayed level-headed and realistic to the ways of the world, hence his decision to leave him with his aunt and uncle, but he had never known that the boy's own blood relatives would take their dislike to such an extent. He shook his head in dismay at the situation and released Harry's hand, standing up from the bed and coming over to where the other two sat in chairs quietly discussing some of the findings.

"Well, Poppy, were you able to heal everything?"

"Most of the injuries were easily healed, Albus, but there wasn't much I was able to do about his weight other than give him a nutritional potion. That is a problem only healed with time." She wearily looked over to where Dumbledore was floating another chair over to where they were sitting and she added, "Honestly, he is so underweight, I'm not sure how he's still alive; I'm sure his magic has something to do with it."

Dumbledore nodded his understanding, his brow lowered in thought, and then he directed another question to her. "What are your suggestions for his continued care?"

Pomfrey was slow to answer, and she did so with slight hesitation, knowing the Headmaster would not like what he was about to hear. "As much as I'm loathed to say it, Albus, but I fear the child must be sent to St. Mungos."

The response startled Dumbledore and he asked Pomfrey to explain her reasoning.

"Surely, you saw the injuries on his arms, Albus." She rose from her seat and gestured to the sleeping boy, and Dumbledore could see a length of white bandages wrapped around the bony arms. "You know self-inflicted injuries can't be healed with magic. A healing spell works by drawing the patient's own internal magic out, guiding it until the injury is healed, but the internal magic won't work to heal an injury that was purposely inflicted." As she went on, her eyes began to tear as she voiced her limitations.

"Albus, I can heal physical wounds, but I'm not a trained mind healer; that is what he needs. I am afraid that I'm not sure what to do at this point. Not to mention, his low weight. Nutritional potions can only do so much."

Dumbledore once again nodded his understanding and then turned to Snape. The Headmaster was well aware of Snape's efforts with his Slytherins in these types of matters, even if the rest of the school remained unaware, but it was now time for the dark man of the dudgeons to aid a student outside his own house; surely, the man would see reason and agree to help Harry Potter.

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"Absolutely not!"

Dumbledore had given his request, and Snape was vehemently refusing to submit on the issue. Luckily, the yelling would not wake Harry from his sleep since the Headmaster had the foresight to pull Snape into Pomfrey's office before appealing to the Slytherin's sense of duty.

"Come now, Severus. You don't hate that child's father so much that you would deny him your expertise, would you? He is but another student at this school, the same institution which you have pledged to serve and protect when you first started teaching. Has it not been the duty of every professor here to do their best to see to the well-being of each and every child within Hogwart's walls?"

Snape gritted his teeth in annoyance and replied, "That is all well and good, Albus, but when is the last time you've ever seen any other Professor at this school assist one of my Slytherins? The whole house system is bias, and you know it!" Snape sneered in disgust at the very idea of what the Headmaster was suggesting. "Besides, that boy is nothing but trouble wherever he goes. What makes you think I want him anywhere near my quarters?!"

Dumbledore released a weary sigh, and that had more effect on Snape than anything the old man had said thus far; so, when the elderly wizard started speaking again, Snape made an effort to calm himself down and listen to the man's words.

"Severus, my boy, you know I would not ask this of you if there were any other option available, but you know what would happen if Harry is taken to St. Mungos. It would only be a matter of time before Voldemort found him, and the child is not in the best of positions in which to defend himself."

Snape said nothing in reply and the silence lay heavy and oppressive in the small room. Minutes later, Dumbledore spoke again, placing his hand on Snape's shoulder as he said, "If for no other reason, do it for Lily."

Snape's head shot up in response, and the hurt that shone in his eyes was hard to miss, but the Headmaster left the conversation at that and he slipped out of the room, leaving Snape alone with his thoughts.

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**A/N: **I know there wasn't a confrontation between Snape and Harry, per se, in this chapter, but there will be one in the upcoming chapters…maybe right after Harry wakes up.

Now, I have a question: Do you all want Draco to continue being a bully to Harry, or would you like the two to become friends somewhere down the line…let me know!

Also, I wanted to address one of my reader's concerns here in case anyone else felt the same way, that way I can possibly clarify some things to everyone at the same time. The reader pointed out that there wasn't enough detail in the last chapter. I purposely left the end of Harry's dealings with Stroper unexplained. I did this to keep the readers guessing about what occurred, just like Harry has to do. You will find out later what happened, I promise. I just felt that it would add to the mystery of both Stroper and the man's intentions if the readers had about the same amount of information as Harry does about the man.

Oh, and to **green9721**: No, Harry will not become a werewolf.

Anyways, with that said, I now implore you all to **please send me a review** and let me know if you like how the story is turning out. Also, don't forget to let me know about how you think the story should go as far as Malfoy is concerned. **Thanks to you all for your wonderful support!!**


	9. Caught in the Act

Disclaimer: J.K.R. is awesome for her creation of Harry Potter and all his buddies!

A/N: I'm sorry this chapter took so long to get posted. Since we finally got home after our vacation, every day has been busy with doctor appointments, preparations for the start of school, and court hearings and other such meeting in regards to my foster children. Truthfully, I just hadn't felt like writing for the past week because I found out that we won't get to adopt the sibling group of five that we've been fostering for over a year now. The children's case worker had told us that we would likely get to keep them, but it was recently decided by those in charge that the children will have to return home, despite the fact that they don't want to go. It's going to be very hard to watch them leave. But, nevertheless, I wanted to get this chapter posted since you've all been waiting so long for it. I hope you enjoy it. Please don't forget to review when you're done. Thanks to you all!!

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Where Do I Go From Here?

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Chap. 9 Caught in the Act

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Harry woke suddenly with a gasp and sat bolt upright in bed, trying to catch his breath as he scrubbed the tears from his eyes with the heel of one of his hands. He had just had another nightmare. It seemed that, even in his sleep, there was no escape from the memories of Uncle Vernon and the terrible events of the summer.

Glancing around the room, Harry abruptly remembered where he was and how he came to be there. He pulled himself from under the warm covers and slid his legs over the side of the bed, the cold stone floor almost making him draw his bare feet back up. It wasn't until then that he looked down at the clothes he was wearing, and he blushed when he realized that he was in the pale blue pajamas that Pomfrey issued all her overnight patients. That meant that Pomfrey had seen his injuries.

Harry panicked at the thought, his right hand automatically gripping the palm of his left and squeezing in a sub-conscience gesture like the one he had used while trapped in his cupboard at Privet Drive. But when no sudden burst of pain occurred, he looked down, and upon seeing the scar of the now healed wound on his palm, he remembered that he needed his knife to bring about the relief he was seeking now.

Knowing his favored blade was currently sitting in his room safely tucked away in his trunk, Harry decided he would have to improvise. He padded over to the nearest window and judged it to be late in the day, the setting sun casting its last golden rays of light at such an angle that Harry's silhouette was shadowed onto the opposite wall.

Figuring everyone must be in the Great Hall for supper, Harry looked around for his wand. Finding it on the small nightstand next to his bed, he snatched it up and looked about the room one last time to ensure he was not being watched before taking off out of the infirmary's main doors.

Harry located a bathroom just one corridor away and he slipped inside, grateful he hadn't been seen. Noticing that the bathroom was mercifully empty, he heaved a sigh of relief and cast a locking charm on the door.

Once he felt reasonably sure he would have the privacy he was seeking, he cast his eyes over the floor of the bathroom for an object that he could transfigure, but found it disappointingly clean. Cursing the efficiency of Hogwart's house elves, Harry drew his hand through his hair in frustration. Finally, seeing nothing else for it, he yanked the bottom-most button from his pajama top and pointed his wand at it. It took several attempts, but he was finally able to produce a suitable razor, even if the metal was tinted the same color as the button had been.

Satisfied with his work, he settled himself in the corner next to the sink furthest from the door. He raised his makeshift razor enough to catch the light and he tilted it from side to side, reverently admiring the way it reflected everything around it; but then it showed Harry his own distorted image and he grimaced in disgust. Pulling up a sleeve, Harry now saw the bandages wrapped around his arm that he hadn't until this moment realized were there and he froze, his heart beating rapidly.

He did not remember much of what happened that morning after having been given the Calming Draught, and he hadn't realized until now that his biggest secret had been discovered. He knew upon waking that they must have figured out that his relatives had hurt him, but he had been unsure if they had also found out about the cutting. Staring down at the white strips of gauze, a note of finality struck deep within him and seemed to clench around his heart. _What would they think of their savior now?_ Harry wondered.

He slowly pulled the bandages off, only slightly relieved to see the marks beneath still there. _If anything, it would have been worse_, Harry decided_, if Madam Pomfrey had healed those marks as well. _He ran his fingertips over the mesh of healing scabs, admiring the rows of small, evenly-spaced cuts while searching for a spot to place the newest ones in.

Picking an area just below his wrist, Harry lined the razor up and swiped downward, but before the pain could even register, he was already swiping down again, and again, not stopping until there were five new cuts lined across his flesh, the blood welling to the surface in slow dribbles. He then inspected his work, noticing straight off that the razor cut differently from the knife he was so used to using. The razor had cut a little deeper than he had intended, its sharper blade needing much less pressure than the knife ever had, but Harry decided it would do.

Setting the razor on the floor, Harry leaned back against the wall and took several deep, steadying breaths, feeling as if he could breathe only now, as if he had been denied oxygen and was only granted it just then. How awful it had been to wake up in the infirmary, knowing he had been given no choice in the matter, knowing that he had been forced to comply, and in the process, he had his secrets revealed. _Why?_ The mantra kept flowing through his head, _Why was he not allowed to make a single decision when it came to his life?_ He knew the act of cutting himself, as warped it might seem to others, was one choice he had made on his own, but now that the adults knew, they would try to take that away from him as well.

As Harry's train of thought dwelt on those issues, he felt the slight sense of peace that the cutting had given him start to ebb away and he grabbed the razor back up, preparing to add just a few more lines to his most recent set. But as he was lining the blade up, he was jolted to full attention when a loud click sounded through the bathroom. Throwing his gaze to the door, he panicked when he saw the door begin to swing open. Snatching his wand up, he stood to face the mirror that hung on the wall only a few feet away and desperately tried to cast a glamour charm on himself before anyone would be able to see his true form.

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Poppy had just returned from supper in the Great Hall when she noticed the empty bed and the rumpled covers that lay strewn over its side. With a sudden intake of breath, she rushed around the side of the bed, hoping that the missing teen had merely fallen to the floor, but she was disappointed when she did not find him there, nor anywhere else in the infirmary for that matter. Rushing to the Floo in her office, she hurriedly fire-called Dumbledore who was just returning from the Great Hall as well.

"Albus, come quick! Harry Potter has gone missing from his bed!"

Without delay, Dumbledore walked briskly towards the fireplace, holding his long robe up slightly as he went to prevent it hindering his path, and he instructed, "Step aside, Poppy, I'm coming through."

With worry etched in her features, she took several steps back, freeing the way for Dumbledore as he entered through the Floo with flash of green fire and a whirl of smoke. Within minutes, the pair of them was searching the surrounding corridors and rooms.

It didn't take long for them to come to the same bathroom that Harry had previously found. Dumbledore pushed on the door with no success, but after a quick and silent swish of his wand, he was able to enter with no further hindrance, Poppy on his heels.

The two stepped into the small bathroom and then stopped in their tracks only a few paces in. Harry was at the mirror, frantically trying to cast a glamour charm, but his hand was shaking so much that he was unable to steady his wand long enough to say the entire incantation.

Dumbledore took a step closer to the obviously distressed teen, taking in the wild look in the boy's eyes, and he raised his hand as he neared as one might do if approaching a frightened animal.

"Give me the wand, Harry."

Harry threw his head to the side and looked at the pair as if seeing them for the first time, his eyes huge.

"Harry, I want you to give me your wand, please."

Still, Harry hesitated. He knew it was foolish to be scared of Dumbledore, the man had always been so kind to him in the past, but Harry couldn't forget who it was that brought him to the hospital wing in the first place, and he pointed his wand shakily at his Headmaster. Poppy gave a little gasp at the action, but Dumbledore seemed to take no notice of it whatsoever.

Without a word spoken, Dumbledore continued to close the gap between himself and the shaking youth before him. As soon as he was close enough to reach it, Dumbledore wrapped his long, thin fingers around the end of Harry's wand and gently pulled it from the boy's grasp, slipping the slender piece of wood into one of the pockets of his robe.

Feeling defenseless, Harry shuffled backward a few paces until his back hit the wall with a muffled thud, and he wrapped his arms around himself as he stared at the two adults, too anxious about having been caught in his misdeed to say or do anything other than to compulsively bite at his bottom lip.

Harry watched as Madam Pomfrey placed a hand on Dumbledore's shoulder, and in turn, Dumbledore raised his gaze to the medi-witch's inquiringly. Following the path her eyes were looking, Dumbledore's sight was pulled down to Harry's left arm and the blood starting to soak through the fabric.

Harry finally looked down as well, and upon seeing what was drawing their attention, he clutched his left arm protectively to his chest, covering it as best he could with his other one.

"Harry, I would like you to come with us now."

Dumbledore's soft voice seemed loud in the otherwise quiet room and Harry was barely able to stop himself from jumping at the sudden noise. A moment later, however, Harry registered what had been said and he shook his head in weak refusal.

Releasing a sigh, Dumbledore shook his head as well and said, "I'm sorry, Harry, but I can't allow you to stay here. Besides, do you really want to risk having any of the other students coming in and seeing you like this?"

He raised his brows in a questioning nature, but it seemed that his words had the effect he wanted and Harry reluctantly shuffled forward, his head bowed in defeat, and his arms once again wrapped protectively around his middle.

Dumbledore tenderly placed his arm around Harry's shoulders, but the teen ducked out from under it before it even fully came to a rest. As far as Harry was concerned, they may be able to force him to follow them back to the infirmary, but that didn't mean he had to like it, and he was bound and determined to be sure they knew it.

Pomfrey led the way out of the bathroom and into the corridor beyond, Harry right behind her, with Dumbledore following after them in procession. Harry felt his cheeks heat in shame. They were guiding him back as if he were a prisoner that they worried might somehow escape.

He twisted his right hand around the fresh cuts and squeezed, using the pain to ground himself and mute out the feelings of anger, fear, and loss of control that threatened to overpower him. But then, a warm, firm hand rested on his shoulder and he turned his view in that direction only to see the old Headmaster staring at him disapprovingly in silent admonishment. Harry again ducked his head and slowly relaxed his grip, sliding his hand down and away, noticing from the corner of his eye the smudges of blood that now dotted his palm. He briskly wiped his hand on the side of his pants leg as he walked, finishing the rest of the short journey in silence.

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Snape grumbled to himself through clenched teeth as he stalked down the halls of Hogwarts, students leaping from his path as he steadily made his way to his destination. Even his Slytherins knew better than to bother the man when he was so obviously irritated. And why shouldn't he be? He had just left the Headmaster's office mere minutes ago after having been informed, in no uncertain terms, that he would have to spend several hours of his precious free time that evening keeping an eye on Potter.

It was bad enough that Dumbledore was still pressuring him to allow the brat into his quarters, as if Potter were one of his Slytherins, but to then assign him to "Potter Duty"? It was intolerable!

Snape scowled ferociously at a group of first year Hufflepuff students as he passed, and was only mildly satisfied as he heard one of the girls break down into tears as he rounded the corner.

_Just leave it to Potter_, Snape thought bitterly, _to wake so soon after being treated just that morning. Yes, leave it to Potter to __**not**__ follow the norm._

Poppy had insisted that the boy would sleep until late in the evening, but he woke up hours earlier than expected. Dumbledore had explained to Snape what had occurred earlier that evening when the boy had awakened to find himself alone and, determined to not allow the incident repeat itself, the Headmaster had insisted Potter be watched. _And of course_, Snape thought, _I was given the 'honor' of watching the little brat_.

With a low growl, Snape flung open the infirmary doors, oddly pleased when Madam Pomfrey jumped at the racket, dropping the roll of gauze that she held suspended in her hand.

oOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOo

Madam Pomfrey had just finished re-bandaging Harry's arm and she nodded to herself when she saw that the bleeding had finally stopped. She had just resettled the blanket over the teen when the infirmary doors flew open with a resounding _Bang!_ Startled, Poppy jumped at the sound and dropped her gauze, watching with dismay as Harry cringed on the bed below, his head sinking somewhat into the pillow.

"Severus!" Poppy scolded him, "Great Merlin, you gave me a fright!"

Snape ignored her completely as he made his way over to the farthest corner, flicked his wand, and sat in the chair that he had just summoned, his long legs stretched out in front of him as he folded his arms over his chest and glared irritatedly at Harry's bed from across the room.

Harry, however, didn't catch the most recent look of contempt being sent his way. As soon as those doors had crashed open and he saw the look of rage on Snape's face, his mind was instantly drawn to memories of the summer and how Vernon often wore that very same expression right before Harry got a beating. Harry had once more drawn the covers over his head in an effort to hide himself as he shook uncontrollably.

Soon, he heard Pomfrey's footsteps as she marched away from his bedside, and then he could hear her whispering furiously in the corner, but was unable to pick up any of the words clearly, even though he strained his ears to hear what he knew was a conversation with Snape, most likely about him.

oOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOo

"Severus, what do you mean bursting into my infirmary like that? Have you no decency?!"

Poppy paused, but before Snape was able to make a single comment in return, she continued her tirade.

"After everything that boy's been through, I'll not have you bullying him; I don't care how mad you are that Albus sent you here."

Snape was tempted to glower at the elderly medi-witch, but he could remember his own experiences as a student and how she patched him up after his own rocky summers, and he tempered his foul mood as best he could.

Poppy watched some of the anger fall from his face and remarked, "That's better."

She swished her own wand gracefully through the air, sending yet another chair towards them. Promptly seating herself, she wasted no time in explaining the situation to the Potions Master.

"As you know, Albus has asked you to sit with Mister Potter after the incident that took place earlier in the bathroom. I have my own duties to attend to before curfew, but I'll be back in a couple hours."

Snape raised a brow inquiringly at her and she quickly expounded, "I had to send a Ravenclaw home last night after they were diagnosed with Dragon Pox. I need to go to Ravenclaw tower and make sure all the students are up to date on their vaccinations against it. We don't want to risk an outbreak of that, do we?"

Without further ado, she stood and started for the door, pausing only a brief moment to cast her gaze towards the sole occupied bed in the room before she turned back around and left, the sound of her footsteps reverberating through the silence and finally dying off a few moments later, leaving Snape alone with Harry in the dimly lit room.

The minutes ticked slowly by and Snape watched the blanket-covered mound he knew to be Potter, waiting for some movement from the boy; but after a half hour, Snape came to the conclusion that the he must have fallen asleep. Curiosity getting the better of him, he made his way over to the bed and carefully drew back the covers. Sure enough, Potter was asleep and his arm bared the new bandages, the gauze showing stripes of dark lines of dried blood from the most recent cutting episode. The boy must have cut deeply for the wounds to have bled that much.

Allowing the blanket to drop back into its place from his slackened grasp, Snape retreated to his chair in the corner, dousing several candles along the way and plunging the room into darkness, the only light coming from the rising moon and the sole candle left sitting on Potter's bedside table.

Time seemed to go by unsurpassably slow, and Snape could not help but to think of all he could be getting done if he had been allowed to spend the evening in his office as he had wanted. He had just cast_ tempus _for the third time and was about to go drag Poppy back when a small noise attracted his attention and he stilled in his seat to wait for whatever it was to make itself known.

He did not have to wait long. Only moments later, the infirmary door slowly creaked open. Snape held his breath as he waited for the person to step the rest of the way into the room, but the figure was standing in the open doorway as if looking about for others who may be watching, thereby concealing their identity between the open double doors.

_Close the door_, Snape's thoughts screamed to him, _Close the door! _He had already drawn his wand and he slowly raised it, ready for anything and thankful he had put out most of the lights, the darkness now hiding him from view. Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, the door was slowly being closed and Snape took a step forward, a disarming spell on the tip of his tongue.

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A/N: Yes, I know I'm mean to leave it like that, but if anyone cares to guess who it might be, let me know in your review, and I'll tell you if you're right. I'll post the next chapter as soon as I can, hopefully within a week or two. Please don't forget to review. I look forward to finding out my readers' opinions on this chapter. Thanks to you all!!


	10. Unwanted Help

Disclaimer: Just in case you haven't figured it out by now…I don't own Harry, Severus, or any of J.K.R's other characters. But I do own Stroper!

A/N: Thanks to you all for being so patient. I didn't want to make you all wait so long for this new chapter, but I've started a new job and I find myself with less time to devote to my story because of it. Just to make it up to you, I've tried to make this chapter extra long. I hope you like it!!

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Where Do I Go From Here?

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Chap. 10 Unwanted Help

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Snape stood silently in the corner of the infirmary, his wand drawn and ready. As the infirmary door slowly began to close, he stepped forward, careful to stay hidden within the shadows. At first, he could see no one there and he had the fleeting thought that perhaps the person had changed their mind and left, but a second later a wand blinked into appearance followed by a disembodied hand.

The wand suddenly blazed into life, its glowing tip illuminating the surrounding darkness, and Snape quickly took a step back so that he would remain concealed in the shadows. The hand and wand almost seemed to be floating as the person moved further into the room and as soon as the infirmary doors were completely shut, there was a rustling sound as Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger came into view.

Snape's first instinct was to confront them and take house points, but last minute, he decided to sit back down and watch. After all, he was bored and he could always catch them on their way out. So with this in mind, he tucked his wand back up his sleeve and settled back into his chair, mindful to listen to the conversation carefully as to detect any possible future wrongdoings by the Gryffindor Trio.

oOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOo

Extinguishing the light from her wand and stuffing Harry's invisibility cloak into her schoolbag, Hermione stepped closer to the side of Harry's bed. Ron, however, sat on the foot of the bed, earning a whispered reprisal from his bushy-haired friend.

"Ron, be careful! Don't sit on him."

Ron immediately leaped back up. "Oh!"

Hermione gave him an exasperated look and then turned back to the bed.

"Harry," She nudged the sleeping teen's shoulder and waited a moment. "Are you awake?"

"Yeah, Mate, we brought you some stuff!" Ron interjected with a louder voice that made Hermione grimace and then look behind them as if expecting to be discovered. But even then, Harry failed to respond, merely giving a light moan in his sleep before shifting position, rolling onto his side and presenting his friends with a view of the back of his head, his tousled hair sticking up at odd angles.

After noticing that Ron garnished no reaction either, Hermione gave Harry's upper arm a shake and a second later, a pair of green eyes blinked up at her in confusion from over Harry's slumped shoulder.

"Wha-"

Before he was even able to properly verbalize his question, Harry was interrupted by Ron's exuberant whispers. "Look, Harry!"

Ron held up a parcel about the size of a shoe box that had been wrapped in plain brown paper and had its lid shut tight by way of a course piece of string that was wrapped about it, the ends tied securely into a knot over the package's top.

"Honestly, Ron!" Hermione shook her head at the teen standing next to her. "It can wait a few minutes more."

"Oh come on, Hermione," Ron pleaded, "Besides, it'll make him feel better."

By then, Harry had re-situated himself into a more comfortable position and was quietly watching his friends banter back and forth, a questioning expression etched across his face. Hermione settled her attention back onto him a few seconds later and Harry could hear the worry in her voice when she spoke.

"How are you feeling, Harry?"

He gave a small shrug of his shoulders in answer and shifted his eyes to where his hands were clasped together in his lap, suddenly feeling uncomfortable with the thought that his friends must now know about the cutting, too.

"I'm alright, I guess."

An awkward pause followed his statement, and when it seemed no more information was forthcoming, Ron decided to jump into the conversation in order to break the ever-pressing silence in the darkened ward. Ron sat the parcel he had been toting into Harry's lap, and when Harry lifted his gaze to the red-head, Ron explained.

"It came for you today with the rest of the owl post. I think it's the package of stuff that Fred and George said they'd be sending as a late birthday present."

Ron settled onto the foot of the bed watching Harry run his fingers over the brown paper covering the box and he continued to fill in the evening's quietness.

"Oh, and that reminds me! Mum sent along a package, too. It's been in my trunk since Kings Cross. I'd have given it to you sooner, but with everything that's been going on…."

The rest of what he was going to say died on his lips as Hermione threw another heated look at him and Ron wisely shut his mouth, his face reddening in embarrassment. When the pair looked back at their friend, Harry had sunk lower into the bed, his face a mask of conflicted emotions. In an attempt to change the subject, Hermione spoke up.

"Harry, I got your assignments for you." She pulled her overloaded book bag into her lap and pulled out a few textbooks and several rolled up parchments. "I made a copy of my notes for you so that you wouldn't get behind in any of your classes."

Ron perked up at that and hopefully asked, "Uh, Hermione? Could you make me a copy, too?"

In response, she grabbed the thickest roll of parchment from her lap and swatted Ron playfully across the arm with it.

"No," she scolded, "You can take your own notes."

Ron shrugged his shoulders unabashedly and commented, "Well, it was worth a shot."

Harry, who had been watching the exchange, smiled a little at his friends, his discomfort eased somewhat as the topic of conversation strayed farther and farther from the difficult matters, and focused more on their current classes.

A few minutes passed and Harry was beginning to grow sleepy as he listened to Hermione explain how fascinating her Ancient Runes class was, but just as his eyes started to close, Ron spoke up and pulled Harry's attention back into the discussion.

"Well, I still think Defense Against the Dark Arts will be better than any old Runes class, Hermione." Ron shifted his position so he could speak directly to Harry. "You'll like the new professor, Harry. Stroper spent the entire class period showing us a bunch of different curses and how to block them."

Ron's excitement was evident in his voice as he continued to describe what their first class with Professor Stroper had been like. "You should have seen it, Harry! When he asked for volunteers to try the blocks and no-one raised their hand, he made Malfoy do it!"

Hermione interjected at this point, the frustration in her voice made all the more apparent by the way she had put her hands on her hips. "I told you, Ron, it wasn't funny. Professor Stroper could have hurt him!"

"But, 'Mione, it was _Malfoy_!" Ron looked flabbergasted that she would defend the Slytherin, but anything else he was going to say on the matter was soon forgotten as Hermione admonished him.

"I don't care who it was, Ron. That curse almost went through Malfoy's block. Professor Stroper should have been more careful."

Finally, Harry could remain silent no longer, and he interjected, "So what if Malfoy's block wouldn't have held. He would have ended up with boils or something and then be sent to Pomfrey. What's the big deal?"

Hermione took a deep breath before answering and Harry got the distinct impression that she must have had this same conversation several times already. "Harry, you weren't there. It wasn't any old curse Professor Stroper had been casting. It was a powerful blasting curse, and if Malfoy's block hadn't have held, he could have been killed."

oOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOo

Snape had been listening quietly throughout the entirety of the Gryffindors' conversation until he had heard the comments made about the new Defense professor, and it was all he could do to remain still in his seat. The thought of anyone, especially a professor, doing that to one of his students, to one of his Slytherins, made his ire rise, and he seethed in anger as the three students on the other side of the room continued their discussion.

oOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOo

"Well, that aside," Harry interrupted, hoping to end his friend's tirade, "How did the rest of the class go?"

"I suppose it went well enough," Hermione admitted grudgingly, "Other than the incident with Malfoy, the rest of the class went smoothly."

"Smoothly?" Ron looked at Hermione disbelievingly and then turned back to Harry. "It went better than 'smoothly', Mate, it was brilliant!"

Harry smiled at his exuberant friend and commented, "Sounds like fun."

"Oh, it was! But Stroper looked kina' mad when he saw that you weren't there today, and when he asked us where you were-"

Anything else the red-head was going to say was abruptly cut off as Hermione's elbow poked him in the ribs, and then she looked consolingly at Harry.

"Don't worry, Harry. We told him that we didn't know where you were. We didn't tell anyone about any of, um," She floundered nervously for the right word, but settled on just sweeping her hand through the air in a gesture that encompassed the bed Harry was lying in, "…this." Her final word came out whispered and weak, and it was clear to the others there that she was uncomfortable broaching that particular topic.

Harry's face colored yet again in embarrassment as his friends had come back to this sensitive issue. Suddenly, he no longer felt like talking and he cast about for an excuse.

"Uh, I'm feeling tired. I should probably try to get some sleep, now." Without waiting for any type of confirmation from the pair, Harry slid down in the bed, turning his back on the two as he pulled the covers protectively over himself.

oOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOo

Snape watched as the remaining two shared a look between themselves before they silently rose from their seats, Weasley stopping for a moment to stoop over Potter's prone body to scoop up the brown-papered packaged that had been discarded onto the side of the bed at some point during their discussion. The boy then sat the package on the nearby bedside table as Granger gathered her belongings back into her bag, setting several books and rolls of parchment next to the package on the table before they both made their way down the aisle, heading for the main doors.

It had occurred to Snape that it was the perfect opportunity to take points and assign detention, but the forlorn looks on the pair's face as they threw the invisibility cloak over themselves, coupled with what Snape had learned of Stroper's classroom activities, had kept him in his seat, his racing thoughts keeping him seated as the infirmary door was opened and closed by an invisible hand.

Minutes later, Madam Pomfrey came bustling back into the room, automatically pausing just inside the doors in wait for Snape to make his presence known; she was not disappointed. A mere second later, Snape's figure approached out of the darkness, stopping next to the medi-witch long enough to say, "Everything went well."

She took in his stiff posture and clenched fists, but before she could even utter a word in question, he spoke up again. "I'll be going now; I have business to attend to."

Then, the man strode away, disappearing once again as the surrounding darkness of the corridor beyond seemed to swallow his form. It wasn't until he vanished from view that Madam Pomfrey noticed that the man wasn't headed in the direction of the dungeons at all.

oOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOo

"Albus, I demand you do something about it!" Snape's hard voice seemed to echo off the Headmaster's office walls. The Potions Master stood rigidly next to Dumbledore's desk, his hands balled in fists as his irritation started to make itself known.

"I will, Severus, I will," the wizened wizard attempted to placate the irritated man before him, finally standing from his chair and extending his open hands in what was supposed to be a soothing gesture, but it only made the man before him seem to growl in aggravation. "I will have a word with Proffesor Stroper in the morning to address the incident."

"Indeed. And when you do, kindly remind him that if he harms one of my Slytherins, he had better hope you get to him before I do." Snape had spoken the threat through gritted teeth before abruptly turning, leaving just as quickly as he had come. And though he let it pass as if it were a figment of his imagination, the man could have sworn he heard the Headmaster's voice talking faintly as he descended the steps from the office, "Perhaps I _should_ warn him, Severus, perhaps I should."

oOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOo

The following morning, Snape woke in no better of a mood than he had been in the night before. With astute methodology, he prepared for the day, and if not for the silencing spell that encompassed his quarters, one might have heard the growling and shouts from within as his temper got the better of him when he accidentally knocked a pile of rolled parchments from the desk in his study in his haste to get out the door. He was determined to allow himself enough extra time that morning to drop off the batch of calming potion he had brewed the night before. After returning from Dumbledore's office, Snape had been too riled up to sleep, so he set about brewing, knowing that particular task always set his mind at ease. _Besides_, he had told himself, _what with Potter being in the hospital wing, they could use every drop of calming potion they could get._

Snape finished buttoning up his robe and snatched up the bottle of freshly made potion before heading out the door. Due to the early hour, he met very few students on his way from the dungeon to the infirmary, and he had the absurd thought that perhaps it would be a peaceful day after all. But that notion was quickly dispelled as he neared the last corridor of his journey and heard a voice echoing down the empty halls.

"No!"

Snape stopped in his tracks. _That sounded like Potter._

"Let me go!"

After hearing the sound of something shattering, Snape quickly set out again and reached the infirmary doors within seconds. Without preamble, he pushed the door open and marched in, but his steps faltered momentarily in shock as he took in the scene. The two chairs that sat at Potter's bedside the night before were now both lying on their sides, and the sheets of his bed were in such disarray that most of the covers now lay piled upon the floor, nearly missing the puddle of spilled potion and shards of broken glass that lay nearby. And in the midst of the mess was Madam Pomfrey, looking disheveled and harassed, holding firmly to one of the boy's arms as he tried to jerk away, her free hand holding out her wand in a threatening manner.

"Young man," she began, "You put that down or I'll be forced to put you under a binding spell!"

Then Snape looked more closely and he could see the raven-haired youth tightly gripping a fork. From the look of it, he could tell it was one from the Hogwarts kitchens, and Snape was able to ascertain that the boy had gotten it when his morning meal had been delivered by one of the house elves. Deciding to step in before matters were made worse, Snape strode over and snatched the worn-looking piece of silverware from the boy's hand before Potter even realized that there was some one else in the infirmary with them.

With a gasp, Potter bolted away from his professor's form and got his feet tangled in the blanket, falling as his momentum swung his body forward. Pomfrey, still holding the boy's arm, was almost pulled down as well, but Snape hurriedly stepped forward, grabbing his other arm and between the two of them, they were able to prevent him from smashing face-first into the hard, stone floor.

Hoisting the teen back into a standing position, Snape led him back to the side of the bed and forcibly sat him down upon it, never releasing the thin arm from his grasp. Now that she had her hands free, Pomfrey was busy setting the room to rights again, making quick work of the job by way of a few well placed spells. When everything was returned to a semblance of order again, Snape finally asked what had been on the tip of his tongue since he first entered through the infirmary doors.

"And what, pray tell, was that all about?"

Potter kept deathly silent, his brow drawn down in a look of consternation. Pomfrey, however, had no problem explaining the situation.

"I was bringing Mister Potter his morning dose of the nutrition potion, but when I came out of my office, I saw him harming himself with the fork."

Snape's eyes flashed downward to the silent teen sitting before him, but the boy refused to make eye-contact. Scanning the length of the boy's arms for damage, he was unable to find any newly made marks, but Pomfrey spoke up again, further explaining the situation.

"Not on his arms."

Snape threw his gaze back to the medi-witch. "What?"

"When I entered the room, he had his pants leg up and was scraping the prongs of the fork against his thigh."

Now looking at the end of the fork which was still tightly grasped in his fingers, the Potions Master was now able to detect the light rust coloring of drying blood on its very tips. He then turned his full attention to the boy in front of him.

"Show me, Potter."

The command was simple and direct, but still Harry was unable to make himself comply. As of lately, he felt that all he'd been doing was giving in to others' demands, and he felt unable to give in on this one thing. As far as he was concerned, they may be able to dictate everything else in his life, but he would not allow them to take this, his only form of coping with the hard things in his life, away from him.

Professor Snape's grip on his arm tightened as Harry refused to look up or acknowledge the man in any way. Silence reigned for several moments, and then Harry was surprised when the firm grip on his arm was released and he sagged with relief where he sat on the bed. For a fleeting moment, Harry thought that the man had given up and would leave him alone; however, his relief was short-lived.

Having grown frustrated with the boy's behavior, Snape finally lost all patience. Releasing his hold on Potter's arm, he drew out his wand and pointed it at him. Harry looked up, and upon seeing the end of Snape's wand pointed so closely to his chest, he floundered backwards across the bed looking for escape from whatever it was that the man was about to do. Snape was quick to cast _Petrificus Totalis_ before Harry was able to get farther away and the spell left the teen sprawled out across the bed on his back, his eyes trained fearfully on his professor, and his heart beating painfully fast in his chest.

Snape calmly tucked his wand back up his sleeve and tried to ignore the "_tsk, tsk_" sound that Madam Pomfrey was muttering under her breath as she left to retrieve another dose of the nutrient potion to replace the one that had shattered to the floor during the struggle. As she disappeared into her potions store room, Snape set about positioning the boy's body so that he was lying correctly on the bed.

Pomfrey returned a moment later, and catching the questioning look Snape was sending her way, she indicated Harry's right leg. Snape proceeded to push up the fabric of the pants leg without hesitation. Sure enough, just above the bony knee, there were four, closely-spaced, red lines cut into the skin deep enough to bleed in several spots, the bits of skin pushed up at its edges as evidence of the fork's gouging.

Snape wanted to be angry at the boy. He wanted to yell at him, and tell him what a stupid thing it was for him to do. In fact, he wanted nothing more than to be able to walk back out the infirmary doors as if any of this had not happened. But instead of the sharp words and derisive comments he wanted to say, he instead found himself releasing a sigh and informing Madam Pomfrey, "Well, I'll need a copy of his medical file if I am to take over his care."

The elderly medi-witch stood in shock for a moment, but then smiled warmly at the Potions Master. She knew he would eventually do the right thing by taking the boy in and helping him like he would do for any of his Slytherins. She gave him a light appreciative pat on the back and answered, "Of course, Severus. I'll have it all ready to go by the time you're ready to take him down."

Madam Pomfrey then bustled away, leaving the nutrient potion she had brought in a moment before sitting on the bedside table next to the package, books, and rolled parchments from the night before. Snape stared at the fresh marks on Harry's leg for a few moments more before pulling the pants leg back into place and throwing the blanket back over Harry's form.

Snape was about to remove the spell that he had cast on the boy, but then stopped with his wand still in the air as if considering something. Harry watched anxiously, mentally cursing the man that had robbed him of his freedom of movement, but as the drawn wand was again lowered, Harry wondered exactly what would happen next. He soon received his answer when the dark-clothed man stretched across the bed to retrieve the small potion bottle that was on the table opposite him.

Snape pulled the cork and lowered the rim of the bottle to Harry's mouth, but still under the effects of the spell, Harry was powerless to stop him as the bottle was then uplifted and its contents slowly flowed into his mouth. The thick fluid was somewhat bitter, and almost too thick to swallow, but then Snape held his wand to Harry's throat in the same manner as Madam Pomfrey had once done, and one short spell later, he felt his throat swallow down the vile concoction. Unable to voice his disgust, or even grimace at the taste, Harry had to settle on squeezing his eyes shut as hard as he could, wishing he could at least rid his mouth of the taste with a cup of water.

When he finally unclenched his eyes, Harry could see Snape pointing his wand yet again. Harry's heart seemed to jump in anticipation of being allowed his movement again, and he looked hopefully up at his professor. But instead of the _Finite _that Harry had hoped he would hear, he instead heard a different incantation altogether. Disappointment suddenly hung heavy in his heart at the thought of having to remain stationary all day, for surely that is what Professor Snape intended to do.

However, Harry's pre-emptive bout of worry didn't last overly long, for the next instant, the wand was in motion again and a second later, Harry discovered he had his mobility back. But instead of leaping from the bed and making a mad dash for the door like he wanted to do, Harry discovered that the blanket that was covering him from the chest down refused to move, keeping him pinned to the bed while still allowing him some movement of his arms and legs.

_So, that was the spell he was casting_, Harry thought as he experimentally pushed against the blanket with his legs to measure how much movement he was allowed. Still unable to rise fully, but finding himself at least able to bring himself into a sitting position, Harry pushed his pillow against the headboard and leaned against it, watching his professor as he wearily waited for the man to do something. But then, Harry felt he would go into shock as the man began talking, not only that, but he was doing so without the large measure of the typical derisiveness that he usually used when talking to any student who was not a Slytherin.

"Potter, it has been decided by the Headmaster and myself that, due to the circumstances," Snape paused momentarily and raised an eyebrow as if daring the boy before him to issue a single complaint, "you will be moved from Gryffindor Tower to set up residence, temporarily, of course, in the dungeon."

The news was greeted with complete silence on Harry's part, but it didn't last long at all as the shock finally died down enough to allow him full use of his vocal cords again.

"What?! Why can't I stay in Gryffindor Tower? I can't be kicked out of Gryffindor just because of, um…you know." Harry gestured meekly to the bandaged cuts on his arms and then turned his pleading eyes on Snape.

"You misunderstand, Potter. You are not losing your place within your house; however, you surely don't think that the Headmaster would allow you to remain unsupervised after this."

Harry found himself unable to utter a single word in refute, and he found himself fighting back tears of anger, frustration, and deep sorrow. The last thing he wanted was to lose his place in Gryffindor, even if it is only temporary, and especially if it meant that he would be taking up residence in the dungeon of all places. But then a thought occurred to him, and he found himself voicing it aloud before he could stop himself.

"But why the dungeon? How is a room down there going to be any more supervised than the one I have in Gryffindor Tower with all of my dorm mates?"

Again, that eyebrow came up, and when Snape spoke, it was with a tone that implied that the answer should have been obvious, "Because the room is in my quarters, Potter."

Harry felt his jaw go slack from the shock of it all, and then just as quickly, it snapped shut again in irritation.

"But why, Professor? Why do I have to stay with you when there are so many others at the school I could stay with? Don't you hate me?"

The last part of Harry's diatribe came out in almost whispered syllables, his voice dying off as he realized he had just voiced a thought that he had meant to keep to himself. He bowed his head and stared at his now clasped hands as he felt his cheeks redden slightly from embarrassment, but just as he was thinking that he wouldn't receive an answer, the smooth, baritone voice of the Potions Master cut through the silence.

"I don't hate you."

Harry's head shot up again as he locked eyes with his professor, trying to measure out the truthfulness of the statement in the man's dark eyes. Minutes seemed to pass in the few seconds the two stared at each other.

"I don't hate you." Snape repeated the words slowly as if both he and Harry needed the reassurance and confirmation of the declaration. "True, we've never gotten along; you are, after all, a _Gryffindor_," Snape couldn't stop the hint of disgust in his voice that filtered through when he said the word, but he controlled the sneer that wanted to make itself known as well, and he continued on. "However, I have never 'hated' you."

Harry finally found his voice again and said, "But what about all those things you say to me during class?" As Harry waited for an answer, he couldn't help but think about the fact that he had talked more within the last fifteen minutes with this man, than he had since returning to Hogwarts several days ago.

"You will find," Snape paused and seemed to be staring off into the distance, and it came across to Harry that whatever the man was trying to say must be difficult for him, so when he started speaking again, Harry made sure to give him his full attention, "We all have certain expectations that we must live up to. And sometimes, we allow these expectations to get the better of us for so long, that we become lost in them."

Snape looked back at the boy on the bed who was now staring at him in confusion, and he hastened to explain. "I am a Slytherin, Potter. The houses of Gryffindor and Slytherin have been at odds for centuries, a fact your father and his friends made sure I would never forget during my own school days."

Harry winced at this point, suddenly calling to mind the scene in Snape's pensieve that he had witnessed during one of their disastrous Occlumency lessons last year.

"Is it really that hard to understand how a Slytherin's prejudice against their rival house can dictate their interactions with those from that house at a later point in life?"

Harry thought about it and found the explanation eerily similar to the situation he was in with the Dursleys. Aunt Petunia hated the fact that her sister, Lily, had magic when she did not, and that hate transferred itself down to Harry for no other reason than because he had magic. Yes, he understood perfectly well.

Harry gave a small nod of his head and answered, "I understand, Sir."

Snape seemed to not know what else to say after that because the man remained silent for quite a while, staring off into the distance yet again, seemingly lost in thought. And just when the uncomfortable silence was beginning to choke the air with tension, the two were rescued from their troubling thoughts when Madam Pomfrey walked back into the room waving about a file in her hand as if to show Snape that she had, indeed, made the copy as he had asked.

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A/N: I've had several people ask, so I want to put your minds at ease…No, I didn't forget about the marks on Harry's neck. Yes, the adults noticed the marks. It will be a subject brought up, possibly in the next chapter, when Harry and Snape start talking about hard issues.

Please send me a review to let me know if you liked this chapter and let me know if there's anything you would like to see added to the story. I don't know how long it will take to get the next chapter posted, but I hope to have it out within the next couple of weeks. Your reviews always make me eager to write, so, please, keep them coming my faithful readers! Ya'll are the best!!


	11. Snape's New Ward

Disclaimer: Just in case you haven't figured it out by now…I don't own Harry, Severus, or any of J.K.R's other characters. But I do own Stroper!

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Where Do I Go From Here?

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Chap. 11 Snape's New Ward

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It was a rainy Wednesday evening, and Harry was staring sullenly out of the window next to his new bed in Snape's quarters. Just hours before, he had been roused from his place in the infirmary and brought down to the dungeons by way of the Floo, protesting the entire way as the dark-clothed man led him there with an iron grip on his arm. Harry rubbed at the spot where Snape's strong fingers had wrapped about his arm for the short journey, and although it no longer hurt, Harry was sure there might be a bruise there later.

Harry shifted his position on his bed where it sat in the corner of the room and he leaned against the nearby wall, pressing his cheek against the cold stone and peering out the glass as the fat plots of water landed on the sill. He brought his hand up as if to run his fingers over the glass, but as he was about to touch its surface, the image of the window shimmered as if it were made of liquid, and Harry was forcibly reminded that this was not a window at all, merely an enchantment, put there to make the room seem less like a prison, which in Harry's mind, it was, regardless of whether it had a window or not.

As he pulled his hand away, the image reasserted itself and he turned his head away from the sight, away from the blank wall masquerading as something it was not. _Much like me, I suppose, _Harry thought, and he curled up on his side, his head resting on the end of the pillow that stuck out from where his arms were clutched around it, squeezing its softness against his body in a parody of a hug.

After the short conversation he had with his Potions professor early that morning when it was reveled that he would be transferred to the dungeon, Harry had spent much time deep in thought. No matter which way he looked at it, this all felt as if it were some type of punishment, and he had made up his mind right then that he would just have to be more careful from now on; he mustn't be caught again. Of course, with the measures that Snape was taking to safeguard against a repeat of the incident, Harry wasn't so sure he would be able to cut again no matter how careful he was being.

As soon as they had stepped into Snape's quarters two hours ago, Snape had started setting up special wards around the Floo, Harry's bedroom, and then the rest of the rooms. Harry had, at first, tried to ignore the activity as the Professor walked into various rooms waving his wand about and casting the spells, but then Harry felt a tingle go through his body, and he had quickly turned from where he had been sitting on a wing-backed chair to see Snape's wand pointed at him. Realizing that the man had just cast a spell of some sort on him while his back was turned, Harry leaped from the chair in alarm, his face pale, and his eyes staring accusingly at the Potions Master.

Taking in the pallor of the young face of his student, Snape curtly excused the boy from the room, leading him to the bedroom that had been set up for him and directing the boy there with a the short wave of his wand that sent the door sweeping open before him. Harry had hurried from the sitting room only to discover that the space he had retreated to was almost as desolate as he could imagine. The small room had a bed pushed into its corner, the drab blue sheets doing nothing to brighten the somber mood of the room. The enchanted window was there of course, but the rainy weather it was reflecting from outside only made Harry feel lonelier.

He had investigated upon first entering the room to see if there was more to it than that, but a quick precursory glance told him all he needed to know. The room was bare; the bed and window being the only two things in it. Deciding that this entire ordeal must, indeed, be a punishment, he had resigned himself to looking out the window.

But now, two hours later, and curled around his pillow, it was starting to get dark and Harry was wondering if he would see his professor again before morning. Just then, Snape came striding into the room, and although the door had been open since Harry had first entered the room, he jumped in alarm at the professor's sudden entrance.

Snape paused only briefly at Harry's sudden movement, but a second later he returned to his task and a large trunk floated into the room as he guided its movements with his wand. Harry immediately recognized the trunk as his own, and he felt some slight relief knowing he would have his favored possessions with him during his stay.

The trunk landed with a heavy '_thunk_' against the wall next to the bed, but before Harry could make a move towards it, his hopes of finding any contentment within the confines of his professor's quarters were dashed as Snape lifted his wand again, causing the trunk lid to spring open. Within three steps, the man was standing before the open trunk and incanting yet another spell.

Harry watched, horrified, as his pocket knife came sailing through the air, right into Snape's open palm. Withholding the roar of indignation that fought to make itself known, Harry leaped from the bed and blurted out, "Hey, you can't take that! It's mine!"

The effect those words had was instantaneous. Snape spun on the spot and approached the spot where Harry stood, scowling down at the boy and clutching the knife in his tight-handed grip,

"The last I checked, Potter, these are _my_ quarters, hence, you will follow _my_ rules. Rule number one," Harry winced as Snape thrust the closed knife before his face before withdrawing it just as quickly and sliding it into his pocket and continuing in the same restrained voice, "I reserve the right to withhold any item I feel poses a threat to your health."

"But-"

"Rule number two," Snape raised his voice just enough to drown out the objections Harry tried to make heard, "I also reserve the right to search your belongings if I feel it is necessary, so do not give me cause to do so. From this point on, you are not allowed to keep in your possession any item that holds the potential of being used as a tool for self harm; and that includes all blades, whether they be a simple shaving razor or a dull butter knife."

By this point, Harry was practically shaking with suppressed anger and shock; his tightly closed fists were held stiffly at his sides, almost drawing Snape's attention away from the boy's quivering chin. Be that as it may, Snape felt compelled to finish his little diatribe with the same level of harshness, wanting nothing more than to drive home the fact that things were, indeed, going to change; no 'ifs, ands, or buts' about it.

"And rule number three, Potter. You will follow a schedule that I will make out for you. There will be no more moping about in bed feeling sorry for yourself, and you will start eating meals on a regular basis; I'll not have you starve yourself while you're here."

Harry's arms lifted from where he had been holding them at his sides and he crossed them angrily over his chest as he bit out, "I don't mope around in bed, and I don't starve myself!"

"Oh, I beg to differ," Snape cast the boy a snide look and pointed out, "If you don't mope about, then perhaps you would like to explain what it was that you _were_ doing in here before I entered."

Harry fell silent after his blatant lie was pointed out and he sat down hard on his bed in a huff as Snape continued to refute the rash exclamation from moments before.

"And you have been starving yourself, Potter. Do you honestly think no one would notice if you suddenly stopped coming to meals with the rest of the students?"

"But I only missed a few," Harry irritatedly attempted to explain, "And I've been eating in the kitchen every once in a while, too."

Snape's brow arched ever so slightly with that proclamation, and Harry had the eerie sensation that the man knew that he had fudged the truth yet again.

"Is that so…,"The sudden, soft lilt in Snape's voice spoke volumes, and Harry inwardly cringed as the man continued, shattering one of Harry's half-truths yet again. "For I have it on good authority, that you have visited the kitchens a grand total of _one_ time."

Harry decided that Snape must have been already informed by the elves that work in the kitchen, but despite that, he opened his mouth to defend his lie. Unfortunately, he never got the chance.

"Save your breath, Potter. I've had enough of your lies. From this point on, I expect you to be truthful and respectful in your dealings with me, and in return, I will attempt to show you the same courtesy."

Snape briskly turned and headed back towards the door, but stopped just long enough in the open doorway to part some last-minute instructions.

"Dinner will be served in approximately fifteen minutes, and I suggest you come to the table promptly."

Harry instantly groused at the situation. First, he was dragged down to the dungeons to stay with Snape, no less, but now he has to eat with the man, too? He had hoped to be allowed at least a few of his previous freedoms, eating in the Great Hall being one of them, but it seemed that he was to be disappointed yet again.

Snape then left Harry to his thoughts, striding away in such haste that his long, black cloak whipped against the door frame as he passed. Harry grudgingly sat on his bed, dreading the upcoming meal, due both to the company he would have as he ate, and because he wasn't certain he would be able to stomach even half of the typical-sized portion without feeling sick. Even thinking about it now had his stomach feeling as if it were tied in knots, and he rubbed his hand over his belly as he waited.

Sooner than he would have liked, Harry heard the tell-tale '_pop'_ of a house elf, and he knew it was bringing the evening meal. With a groan of apprehension, he hoisted himself from his spot on the bed and made his way back into the main living quarters, dragging his feet the whole way.

As he passed the wing-backed chair he had sat in hours before, he paused a moment to get a better view of the room. He had been so upset earlier due to his abrupt arrival, that he hadn't even paid attention to his surroundings, but now that he had the opportunity to do so, he could not help but to be transfixed by it all. The room was large, and despite how Harry had always imagined Snape's quarters would look, the space was surprisingly inviting, decorated in shades of warm earth tones instead of the Slytherin colors of silver and green as he had expected.

Most of the wall space was taken up by large, ornate looking bookshelves, stained in cherry, and each was heavily laden with tomes of all sizes. The fireplace, through which he had arrived, was towards the left end of the room, opposite his bedroom door. A large, beautifully woven rug was positioned in front of the fireplace, with a wing-backed chair situated on either side of it, and a loveseat at the end, facing the hearth, leaving the greater expanse of the rug directly in front of the fireplace free and open; Harry supposed that this was done to allow unimpeded access to the Floo.

Each of the chairs had a small end table positioned close by, stained to match the bookshelves, and Harry could see an open book laying atop one of the end tables, its worn and yellowed pages giving testament to its age.

Letting his eyes wander to the other end of the room, he noticed a desk in the far corner, its thick, carved legs drawing his attention almost immediately. Next to the desk was the entrance to a small hallway that held three doors. Harry assumed that one door led to Snape's bedroom, and one led to what must be a bathroom, but he didn't have a clue as to what was hidden behind the last closed door.

"Looking for something?"

Harry whirled around in surprise. Snape was staring at him through narrowed eyes from where he sat at a small table that sat in the corner opposite the desk. Harry cast his eyes over his surroundings again, startled to realize that in his musings, his feet had automatically brought him forward and he was actually standing in the entrance to the hallway.

Thinking quickly, Harry said the first thing that popped up into his mind.

"Just looking for the bathroom, Sir, to wash my hands."

"Yes," Snape intoned wryly, "See that you do. First door on the right, and be quick about it."

Harry practically bolted to the proper door and swung it open. Inside he found a modest-sized bathroom, much nicer than the ones he was used to using in Gryffindor tower. Deciding not to take the time to inspect the room further, Harry hurriedly washed his hands and then made his way to the table.

When he got there, he saw that there were several platters full of food, along with two pitchers of drinks. Harry instantly recognized the orange colored liquid of the first pitcher to be pumpkin juice, but the other pitcher held a darker looking liquid that he couldn't place, and he thought that it must be there specifically for Snape's use since it was placed so close to the man's side of the table.

Harry took the seat opposite his professor and then stared at the empty plate in front of him in an effort to avoid the piercing stare that was being sent his way, but Snape would have none of it.

"Do not slouch in your seat. I expect you to use proper manners whilst you are here."

As soon as Harry lifted his gaze, Snape exasperatedly directed, "Serve yourself; I'll not be doing it for you."

Harry could feel his cheeks heat with anger and humiliation, and he resolutely kept his mouth shut out of fear of saying something that would get him into even more trouble. Grabbing the serving spoon from the closest platter, he scooped a little of the corn onto his plate, before placing a chicken leg and a roll on it as well.

Picking up his fork, he was stopped from getting his first bite when Snape said, "Before you eat, Potter, you need to take this." The long, dark-clothed arm of the Potions Professor stretched forward and held a small vial of potion aloft over the food until Harry timidly plucked it out of his grasp. Not recognizing the potion, and confused as to what it might be, Harry inquired, "What is it, Sir?

The answer he received was delivered with an even tone of voice that held not the smallest amount of distain, simply sounding very matter-of-factly. "It is a stomach soothing potion. It will ease any discomfort that you have as a result of your eating a normal meal."

Harry looked down in wonder at the vial wondering _what on earth _had happened to make Snape take pity on him. Deciding he'd better take advantage of the offering while he had the chance, Harry pulled the small cork from the vial and downed it all in one go, grimacing his face in preparation for the bad taste. Surprisingly though, he found it to have a rather pleasing flavor, leaving the taste of mint behind. Raising his brow in surprise, he blurted out, "Why can't you make all your potions taste like that?"

Snape barely restrained himself from rolling his eyes. "The taste of a potion is not determined after the fact, but it is merely the product of the combined ingredients within it. Any decent potioneer would know that it would compromise a potion to add any flavoring to it, though that fact doesn't seem to stop some from trying. It just so happens that the potion you just ingested is brewed with a base of septertine needles which tastes very similar to mint."

"Oh."

Harry stared dumbfounded at his professor for several moments, shocked at the fact that the man had actually spoke several sentences to him without throwing in some derogatory comment, but a sudden, purposeful cough derailed his train of thought, and he quickly scooped up a bite of corn.

The dinner continued in awkward silence for several minutes until Harry set his silverware to the side, feeling quite full despite the fact that he'd eaten less than half of the food he had on his plate. Chancing a quick look at his professor, Harry caught the look of disapproval on the man's face when Snape saw the half-full plate.

Sullenly picking up his fork again, Harry forced himself to eat a few more bites, but by the time Snape finished off his own meal, Harry still hadn't made much headway with his plate of food and he was currently using his fork to push the bits and pieces of his left over meal from one side of the plate to the other, much to the dissatisfaction of his Potions Professor.

"If you're done playing with your food, Potter, then follow me."

Snape stood from his chair and paced past where Harry was just rising from his own seat, not sparing a single glance in the boy's direction, but heading straight for one of the chairs that sat next to the fireplace. Harry noticed that it was the same one that had the end table next to it on which sat the open book. He off-handedly thought that perhaps that particular chair was his Potion's Professor's favorite, but further reflection was dashed from his mind as the man motioned Harry into the other chair with a curt nod of his head. Harry apprehensively perched himself on the very edge of the chair, much too nervous about it all to bring himself to the point where he could relax fully.

Snape fixed him with another one of his penetrating stares, and Harry soon found himself fidgeting in his seat, wringing his hands together until the sweat on his palms forced him to rub his hands down the tops of his pants legs in an attempt to dry them. At this point, Snape purposely cleared his throat to gain Harry's attention and stated, "I want to know how you came to be in the state in which you were found yesterday morning."

Harry instantly cast about for an answer. _He couldn't tell him, he just couldn't. _

Not knowing what to say, he decided to play dumb.

"I don't know..." Again, Harry's hands came together in his lap and he anxiously rubbed his right thumb against the scar on his left palm, "I don't remember."

The look on Snape's face made it obvious to Harry that the man would not be so easily swayed.

"I know that's not the truth. The bruises were in different stages of healing, Potter. Do you know what that tells me?"

Harry's mouth had suddenly gone dry and his tongue felt as if it were glued to the roof of his mouth, so he just shook his head 'no' instead.

"It tells me that the damage occurred over the course of at least the past several weeks. So, that leads me to believe that the injuries you sustained took place while in the care of your relatives."

Harry suddenly felt as if all the air in the room had been drained away. He gulped in several deep breaths, but still felt as if he were suffocating. Bolting to his feet, he replied in a voice fraught with tension, "No, I told you, I don't remember."

"I think you do remember, Potter. But for some unfathomable reason you feel the need to protect the person or persons responsible. Now is not the time for foolish Gryffindor chivalry. The ones responsible should be brought to justice."

Harry could do little more than shake his head in dispute against those statements. He was desperate to escape this line of questioning, especially now that he could feel the sting of tears in his eyes. Breathing deeply in order to stave off the impending bout of emotions, Harry flustered out, "I d-don't feel like talking about this right now."

He took a couple of hesitant steps towards his bedroom door. "I'm tired. I'm going to bed."

Then he all but ran from the room, shutting his door quickly in an attempt to shut out the voice of his professor calling out, "Potter.."

Now in the privacy of his room, Harry paced back and forth anxiously. Running a hand agitatedly through his hair, he stopped his pacing and stared at his trunk. Desperate for some relief, he dropped to his knees to dig through its contents. Pushing the clothes aside, he rummaged through it all looking for something, anything that would take the place of his confiscated knife.

Casting a rumpled shirt to the side, he eyed a small, brown plastic bottle. Confused as to what it was, he grabbed it out and held it up to the light. Even through the blurriness of his tears, he recognized the bottle of pills he had stolen from his aunt's medicine cabinet so many weeks before. Running his fingers over the label, he read the information printed there and then took off the cap. Giving the bottle a little shake, he surmised that most of the prescription was left.

Hearing the sound of movement from the room beyond, Harry hastily screwed the cap back on and tucked the bottle safely into a loose sock that he found sitting in the bottom of his trunk without its mate. Waiting a few minutes longer to be sure he wouldn't be disturbed, he commenced his rummaging and managed to find the short end of a broken quill that had been lying forgotten amongst the other odds and ends that were within.

Out of fear of being discovered, Harry gave his closed door another furtive glance before making his way over to his bed. After settling himself comfortably against the headboard, he rolled his sleeve up looking for a good spot to make the mark at. He had just pressed the quill to his skin when he thought better of it and rolled the sleeve back down.

Knowing better than to make any marks where there was a chance of Snape seeing them, Harry looked for a different area on which to mark. Thinking it the least likely place for Snape to see, Harry slid off his pants and found a spot on his inner thigh, stopping for only a moment to admire the scabbed over marks the fork left behind that morning. He then took the sharp end of the quill and pressed it to his flesh, relishing the sharp stab of pain the action caused. Slowly drawing the quill downwards, he left a scrape along his skin that flared with pain.

Finally feeling able to breathe deeply again, Harry closed his eyes and enjoyed the sensation for a moment or two, letting the pain push his agonizing thoughts aside. Just as he prepared to do it again, his bedroom door flew open, and Snape stormed in. Before Harry even realized what was happening, the quill was _accio-_ed out of his hands and Snape was looming over him with a look of fury on his face.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?! I thought I made it abundantly clear that you were not to engage in this type of activity again, and yet, here you sit, bleeding onto your bed covers."

Harry's eyes flew down towards his lap, and sure enough, the small scrape had started to bleed at a spot near the bottom and a small trickle of blood was slowly making its way downwards to drip onto his blanket. Then, he registered the fact that he was sitting in front of his Potions professor wearing nothing more than his shirt and underwear. Grabbing the edge of the blanket up from where it was draped over the edge of the bed, he threw it across his lap, effectively hiding his indiscretion from view. But it was too little, too late; Snape had already seen.

Snape stepped closer to the bed, and out of both instinct and fear, Harry cringed as the man's shadow fell across his face. That, more than anything else, made Snape stop in his tracks. The man withdrew to the other side of the room where he resorted to pacing back and forth, focusing on breathing deeply to diffuse some of his anger. When he thought about it, it wasn't so much the fact that the boy had harmed himself again that bothered Snape so much, it was the fact that Harry was the son of James Potter, and that both of them had no regard to rules whatsoever.

If he were honest with himself, he knew when he set the rule against self harm that it was very likely to be broken; he had, after all, been through this process with several of his Slytherins over the years. Resolved to try harder, he made his way back over to the boy and sat upon the closed trunk. He waited for several moments, but the child refused to make eye contact. Finally, he broke the silence, causing the boy's shoulders to hunch even more as if the child were expecting a blow to accompany the words.

"Why?"

If there was one thing Harry was not expecting, it was the sound of Snape speaking to him in such a tone of voice; it was firm, yet un-reprimanding, and Harry raised his bowed head enough to look at the man through the fringe of dark, unruly hair that hung down and almost hid the top half of his face from view. When he couldn't bring himself to say anything in return, he heard that voice again.

"Why?"

This time, Harry sat up and actually looked at the man properly. Gone was the scowl from earlier, gone was the look of fury from minutes before; but still, he felt unable to say anything. He felt his nose running and sniffed it, but before he could even contemplate fetching himself a tissue, a folded white handkerchief was presented to him. Harry looked down at it for a number of terse moments before accepting the item from Snape's outstretched hand. He brought the cloth to his face and was somewhat surprised to feel how wet his face was. _Had he really been crying that hard? _

Rubbing his face dry, he then brought the handkerchief to his lap, assuming correctly that Snape would not want it back now that it was damp with the evidence of his latest crying bout. He nervously twisted the fabric of it around his fingers, still at a loss as to what to say, finally deciding to answer the question by way of an indecisive shrug of his shoulders.

Taking the answer for what it was, Snape decided to share his thoughts on the subject.

"I think we both know why you did it, Mister Potter."

Now, Snape had Harry's full attention, so the man continued on in that same tone of voice he had used minutes before.

"I think you were so distressed about the topic I attempted to discuss with you, that you felt the need to cut again."

Despite his better judgment that was telling him not to trust this man, Harry soon found himself nodding, giving the man the affirmation he was seeking. A terse silence followed, eventually broken when Snape asked, "You do realize that I must search your belongings now?"

Harry was quick to shake his head and utter a dejected, "No."

"You know I must, Potter. Rule number two. How am I to know there aren't other items hidden in your trunk that could be used in place of your knife?"

Snape stood and lifted the lid of the trunk, pausing momentarily at the jumbled up mess of clothes and books inside. "This mess is unacceptable. Whilst here, I expect you to keep your things in at least a half presentable manner."

Harry craned his neck to better watch as Snape shifted his things about in his trunk, praying that the man would not find his aunt's stolen bottle of pills. Although it had first been placed in the trunk unintentionally, he didn't want Snape to find it out of fear that it would only invite the man to question how it got there, and Harry really didn't feel up to another round of questioning tonight.

Harry held his breath when the sock with the bottle inside came into view; luckily, however, Snape pushed it to the side right along with the other pieces of clothing lying about in the trunk, ignoring its presence entirely. By the time Snape had reached the bottom, he had removed the other end of Harry's broken quill and was lifting a piece of old, tattered parchment from the bottom.

"Humph."

The professor's low voice sounded softly through the room, and Harry partially stood up from where he had been previously sitting on the edge of the bed to see what got the man's attention. As Harry peered over Snape's shoulder, he could see the man's long thin fingers gingerly lift out a rather large fragment of broken glass. With a start, Harry realized that it was a piece of Sirius's mirror that he had shattered months before, at the end of the last school term.

_How had that escaped my attention before?_ Harry had not even remembered he still had it in his trunk, but now that he saw Snape lifting piece after piece out, he became aware of the fact that he had purposely tried to forget the horrifying incident that led him to break that mirror in the first place. He remembered how angry he had been that day, the day it had finally settled into his brain the fact that Sirius would never be coming back. Harry would never hear the man's laughter again, he would never feel that friendly arm slung around his shoulders in a hug, he would never have what he had always hoped for and had been promised…a home with someone that actually cared about him.

Just thinking about Sirius made Harry's chest hurt and his eyes sting. Shaking out the handkerchief from where it had been balled up in his fist, he wiped it across his eyes and sat back down on the bed, wishing harder than ever that Snape would just leave so that he could be alone with his thoughts for the rest of the evening…But as always, fate had never truly been kind.

Snape stood from where he had been crouched next to the trunk, his hands full of the various things he had uncovered while searching Harry's trunk. He silently left the room, and when he returned a moment later, his hands were empty again. Harry's heart cried out at the injustice of it all. What right did Snape have to take one of the few things Harry had that had been gifted to him from someone he loved? Harry pointedly ignored the small voice in the back of his head reminding him that he hadn't touched any part of that mirror since the day he broke it; instead, all he could think about was how Snape, whose hatred of Sirius Black was legendary, had removed one of the only reminders Harry had of the man.

Stifling a cry of pained anger, Harry stared accusingly at Professor Snape and bit out, "What did you do with it?"

Snape's lowered brow was the only sign of his incomprehension of the boy's outburst. When he looked at Harry, he could see the child's hands fisted tightly in the bedclothes, and he curtly asked him, "What are you going on about, Potter?"

"Sirius' mirror! You had no right to take it!"

Understanding dawned swiftly on Snape, and he was quick to refute the boy's accusation.

"I did not destroy your belongings, nor do I intend to keep them. They are currently locked away until such a time as I deem you fit enough to have them returned to you."

Harry's anger died down a bit, but he was still resentful towards Snape for taking those things in the first place. Before he could think longer on the situation, however, Snape once again seated himself upon the trunk and pulled a rolled length of parchment from his pocket.

"Here is the schedule you will be following during the duration of your stay."

Snape handed the paper to Harry, who took it and retreated to the far side of the bed, where he leaned against the wall and unfurled the parchment to read through its contents.

"As you can see," Snape continued, "there is a time allotted each day for study in the evenings. I also expect you to attend _all _of your assigned classes and the extra tutorage that Professor Dumbledore has arranged for you with Professor Stroper."

Harry resentfully looked over the schedule, his heart sinking more and more the farther down the paper he read.

"But, Sir…When do I get to go to Quidditch practice?"

Harry continued to scan the parchment until he heard his professor's answer.

"You won't."

"What?!" Harry was now more outraged than before. He clenched his fists in anger, crumpling the edges of the parchment trapped between his fingertips. "That's not fair! You know Gryffindor has practice every week. I have to go!"

"No, Mister Potter, you don't have to go. As a matter of fact, you are henceforth banned from further participation on your team until you have fully regained your health."

"B-but," Harry sputtered indignantly, "What do you mean, 'until I'm healthy'? Madam Pomfrey healed everything, didn't she?"

"Magic can't heal every wound, Potter, nor is it safe for you to fly until you have regained some of the weight you've lost during the summer."

Harry wanted to protest, but Snape wasn't finished yet.

"And as to that fact, tomorrow you will start a prescribed regimen of nutrient potions that will aid in your weight gain until you can eat more regularly."

"There's nothing wrong with the way I eat," Harry retorted.

"Potter, you hardly eat enough to keep a bird alive." And with that, Snape rose and made his way to the door. "And you wouldn't be amiss to try to sleep more regularly, as well."

Harry could see that the professor had stopped and was eying the bags beneath his eyes, and he looked down, hiding the top portion of his face with the curtain of dark hair that flopped forward.

"Lights out in half an hour." Snape then exited the room, pulling the door shut as he went, leaving Harry alone with his thoughts.

Snape walked directly to a locked cabinet that was situated near his desk, and using his wand to unlock it, he reached within it and pulled out a slender glass bottle and a small glass tumbler. Pouring himself a measure of the liquor, he made his way over to his favorite chair by the hearth and settled himself tiredly into its comfortable padding. As he had expected, the fire flashed in green, and he heard the Headmaster's voice call out, "Ah, Severus, do you have a minute to talk?"

By way of an answer, Snape cast a privacy ward around the Floo and took a swig of his drink. He knew that Albus had undoubtedly known he would be sitting there at that particular time, seeing as to how they both talked quite often in the evenings, whenever Severus wasn't out attending to his duties as a spy, that is. He set his almost empty cup onto the small end table, next to the still open book, and he gave Dumbledore his full attention.

"What can I do for you this evening, Albus?"

"I was just checking up to see how young Harry is doing. All is well I hope."

Severus gave the wizened wizard an incredulous look. "He's a Potter, Albus. You're lucky I haven't maimed him."

Dumbledore gave a hearty laugh and chastised the other man, "Surely, it couldn't have been that bad, could it?"

Snape grew very serious, and the change in mood sobered Dumbledore's usual cheerful demeanor rather quickly.

"He's a very angry and scared young man, Albus, and he has a lot of issues he needs to work through." Snape paused long enough to swallow down the rest of his drink and deposit the now empty cup back to its spot next to the book. "I'm not sure if I can help him…too much bad blood between us."

The soft, understanding visage of the old Headmaster nodded in sagely agreement of the statement, and he replied, "I know Severus, but you really are his best chance at recovery."

Snape opened his mouth to disagree, but Dumbledore pointed out, "Don't think for one second that I don't know the success rate you hold in treating your Slytherins who have similar problems to those of Harry. I hold your abilities in the highest regards in things of this nature, and I know you won't disappoint me if you'll but give the boy a chance."

"I don't know if I can, Albus. I've spent half the day wanting to throttle the little wretch, and the other half, pitying him for what those damn muggles have reduced him to!"

"Now, now, Severus, there's nothing wrong with taking pity on a troubled boy."

"Pity is not what he needs right now," Snape smacked his closed fist upon his outstretched knee in emphasis. "Damn it, Albus! He needs a firm hand, yet someone he feels comfortable talking to. I'm afraid I'm already being too harsh with the boy, but he's been grating on my last nerve. He's impulsive and stubborn! He's so convinced he's alone in the world that he won't let anybody in."

"Yes," Dumbledore replied, slowly nodding his head in agreement, "Sounds a lot like another young man I used to know." He gave Snape a pointed look, and the Potions Master felt his face heat in the unfamiliar emotion of embarrassment.

"Be that as it may," Snape argued, "Surely, someone else in the Order would be better suited for this task."

"Come now, Severus, you and I both know you've been keeping an eye on Harry since he first started at Hogwarts, albeit from the sidelines, so let's not go spitting hairs on this. Give it at least a few weeks before you give this venture up; I'm sure things will settle down between the two of you soon." The wizened wizard smiled warmly and asked, "After all, how much harm could one teenaged boy be?"

Totally exasperated by now, Snape answered, "He's already cut himself again, Albus."

The recent smile Dumbledore had sported moments before melted from his face, and Snape continued on before the old man could interrupt.

"I tried to talk to him about the injuries we discovered in the hospital wing, but he ran from the room only moments after I first brought it up. I had decided to leave him alone for the rest of the evening, but several minutes later, the protection ward I had placed on Potter warned me that he had been injured. When I went to investigate the matter, I found the boy had cut himself."

"So soon?"

Snape did not speak, but merely nodded his reply. The short silence that followed was soon broken, however, when a movement from behind caused Snape to turn in his seat, searching out the distraction. Harry was standing in the doorway of his bedroom, the door mostly closed behind him, and his hand still on the knob.

Snape heard the voice of the Headmaster hurriedly say, "I'll check in on you both later, Severus." Then the crackle of the fire was all that Snape could hear as he and his ward regarded each other for a second or two before Harry finished shutting his door and made his way towards the bathroom, toothbrush in hand.

As soon as Snape heard the bathroom door click shut, he turned back to the fireplace only to discover that the old man was gone, and he flicked his wand to bring down the privacy ward he had earlier erected. Scrubbing an open hand wearily across his face, he rose from his seat and put away the empty glass tumbler that still sat on the end table. The last thing he wanted was for Harry to see the evidence of his drinking, despite the fact he hadn't imbibed enough to do anything more than take the edge of his finely honed temper. Besides, for all Snape knew, Harry's relatives might be drinkers, and the last thing he wanted to do was give Harry another reminder of them.

So, with practiced ease, he spelled the cup clean and placed it back within the cabinet, getting the door shut just as Harry re-entered the room. The boy stopped in the hallway, as if nervous to pass so closely to where Snape stood a few feet away, but as Snape cast a spell on the cabinet and the door locked with a _click_, Harry hurried past, not stopping until he was once again ensconced in his room.

Snape cast a _tempus_ charm and saw that it was time for Harry to go to bed, but before he could take even one step towards the bedroom door, the ribbon of light that shone from underneath it went out, and the Potions Master resigned himself to a quiet evening reading his book.

Making himself comfortable again in his chair, he pulled the book towards him and started at the spot where he last left off, leaning back in the chair and stretching his long legs out in front of him, crossing them at the ankles.

He wasn't sure how much time had passed in that manner, but when he first felt the tingling sensation that alerted him to the protection ward, the fire was low in the grate. Setting the book down, he made his way over to Harry's door and paused just outside it to listen for some clue as to what the boy was up to. Hearing nothing, but once again feeling that slight tingle make its way through him, he pushed the door open.

At first, he was unable to see anything amiss, the darkness of the room making it impenetrable to the man who had just come from a well lit area, but as his eyes adjusted to the change in the light level, he was shocked to see Harry thrashing about in his bed, his limbs knocking haphazardly into the stone wall and bed posts. With a flick of his wand, the light was restored to the room and Snape stood transfixed by what he was witnessing.

The boy's body was twisting about in the bed as if he were in agony, the bed covers that were wrapped about him seemed to only make it worse as the child kicked at them, trying to get them off. But the worst of it was the look on his face, the silent scream that seemed to warp the features of his face with its severity. At first, Snape was too shocked to realize what he was seeing, but then commonsense made itself known, and he used his wand to lift the silencing charm the boy had placed on himself.

As soon as the spell was lifted, his piercing screams ripped through the air like a hot blade, almost making Snape cringe from the noise level alone. Rushing forward, he pushed up the dark fringe that was plastered against Harry's forehead due to the sweat, fully expecting to see the famous scar swollen and bleeding, but to his utter surprise, the boy's forehead was completely unaffected.

Having no other recourse, he grabbed hold of the bony shoulders and gave the boy a light shake in an effort to wake him.

"Potter! Wake up, Boy!"

The response was instantaneous, Harry's struggles increased in strength and he now swung his arms wildly through the air in an attempt to displace the hold Snape had on him. Capturing the thin wrists in his hands, Snape pushed Harry's arms to either side of his body and shouted as loud as he could to be sure he would be heard above the boy's screams.

"Potter, wake up! No one is trying to hurt you! Wake up!"

But still, that didn't work, and Snape was sure he'd be covered in bruises from where Harry's knees kept coming up and pounding against his side. Now determined to wake the child, he did the only other thing he could think of.

"Harry! Open your eyes! You're safe here, Harry! Wake up!"

Finally, the harsh movements slowed to a stop and the screams died down to mere whimpers. Snape released his hold on the frail arms and watched as Harry's eyes opened a fraction before clamping shut again. In realization of the problem, Snape dimmed the lights in the room and turned back to his charge.

Again, those emerald eyes flickered open, confusion and fear clouding them as Harry reached up to tiredly scrub at his face, pressing the heels of his hands against his stinging eyes.

"Wha-" Harry began, his voice trembling, but as he pulled his hands away, he saw Snape there and grew deathly silent, staring at Snape as if he were Voldemort himself. The look on Harry's face was enough to send Snape uncharacteristically hurtling from where he had been sitting on the bed. Unable to hold his tongue any longer, Snape questioned the startled youth.

"What was that all about, Potter? And why, pray tell, was there a silencing charm in place?"

All prior sounds of kindness had drained from Snape's voice as the awkwardness of the situation left him as unsettled as Harry was feeling, and when Snape still hadn't received an answer after several minutes, he said, "I'm waiting, Mister Potter, so do enlighten me."

"Harry." He answered, still unable to bring himself to making eye contact with the harsh man standing before him. "You called me Harry earlier."

Snape was taken aback by the statement, especially since it was one he couldn't refute, so he replied, "So what if I did? That doesn't give you permission to ignore my questions. Now for the last time, why was there a silencing charm in place when I entered your room?"

Harry ran a hand through his wild locks of hair as he considered his response. Knowing better than to try to lie his way out of it, he explained.

"I get nightmares, Sir. I'm used to casting _Silencio _before bed each night so I don't wake anyone. My nightmares tend to be…rather bad."

"Rather bad? You were screaming loud enough to wake the dead, Potter."

Harry's face went as scarlet as his house colors and Snape watched as he fidgeted with the edge of his blanket for several moments. Then, seizing the opportunity to make headway in helping the boy to open up, Snape decided to question Harry again while the boy's defenses were down due to the nightmare. Summoning a chair from the table in the next room, Snape placed it next to the bed and sat down.

Lowering his voice into what he hoped was a softer tone, he asked, "Was the dream about this summer?"

Harry's head shot up and he looked at Snape with a scared, frantic look, but Snape pressed further.

"Was it, perhaps, about how you got those bite marks down your neck?"

Harry's hand shot up to his neck in alarm, running his fingers over where the marks had been, glad Madam Pomfrey had been able to heal them so proficiently.

"I-I don't know how I got those." Harry's voice came out so softly, it was barely more than a whisper, and Snape had to crane forward slightly to catch all of it. The statement made Snape cast a disbelieving look at Harry's hunched-up form, but he could detect no sign that the boy was lying.

Trying again, he asked, "But it _was_ about this summer, correct?"

Harry drew his knees toward his chest and clutched them with his arms, drawing his body into a self-defensive ball as if the memories brought the response on automatically. Then with an almost unperceivable nod of his head, he confirmed Snape's suspicions.

Snape watched as Harry bit at his bottom lip in nervousness, and he hoped that the boy would continue to respond to his queries. Shifting forward even more in his seat, he waited for the child to look at him before resuming his questioning.

"Can you tell me about it?"

Harry immediately looked away again and shook his head, and when he finally spoke, it came out weak and mumbled. "Don't want to."

With a resigned sigh, Snape stood from his seat. "Perhaps tomorrow then."

Harry looked doubtfully up at him, and Snape did his best to keep his face as neutral at possible, especially when all he could think about was how best to curse those blasted muggles that had managed to damage this boy more than the Dark Lord had ever been able to.

"Try to get some sleep," Snape advised, not missing the shudder that went through the boy's body upon the very mention of the word, "You still have to go to your classes tomorrow."

Having second thoughts about how best to handle the situation, he walked out, and called for a house elf. After making his request of the creature, He only had to wait for a minute or two before it popped back into the room with the items he had asked for. Taking the tray from its gnarled looking hands, he dismissed it and sat the tray onto the table.

There was steam coming out of both the teapot and the mug, and Snape set the empty teacup aside so that he could inspect the mug's contents. The cocoa within was thick and frothy, and the steam it was sending up was leaving the thick scent of chocolate wafting through the air. Truthfully, he hadn't been sure exactly what the elf would bring when he had only specified it to 'bring a tea set and…something a teenager might like'.

Looking down into the mug, he had to admit to himself that, despite the fact he never drank such beverages growing up since he found them too sweet for his tastes, the aroma of it was very tempting, indeed.

Picking the tray back up, he made his way back to the bedroom, only to stop halfway there and change direction. Making his way over to the cabinet where he hides his liquor, he unlocked the door and began searching through the contents on the uppermost shelf, pulling out a flask filled with a light blue liquid inside. Pulling the cork, he poured a small dose of the mild calming draught into the mug, the strong scent of the cocoa masking the potion's slight odor perfectly.

Content that it was sufficiently mixed, he carried the tray into Harry's bedroom, where the boy still sat, staring out the window and blearily blinking his tired eyes in his attempt to stay awake. Snape sat the tray atop the trunk, and the soft rattle of the tea set as it settled was enough to make Harry turn rapidly from his view of the dark night sky in surprise. He had been so absorbed in his thoughts that he hadn't even realized someone else was in the room with him.

At first, Harry's eyes had shot over to where Snape was just settling himself in the chair, but then he caught a whiff of something and it drew his eyes down to the small silver tray nearby. He could see the tea pot and the delicate teacup sitting next to it, but by the other end of the tray, the end closest to him, was a dark green mug. Sniffing the air again, Harry could detect the hint of chocolate and he shot a look of shock and incredulity at the man.

Reaching over to grasp the handle of the mug, Snape extended it to Harry, who was still wearing that same look of astonishment.

"You know, Mister Potter," Snape began somewhat wryly, trying to make light of the situation, "I'm not always the complete and utter bastard they make me out to be."

But Harry was still staring at him and had not moved at all, even to take the offered mug, prompting Snape to narrow his eyes and order, "Drink your cocoa."

Even hearing the dark man of the dungeons say the word 'cocoa' was hard to believe, as far as Harry was concerned, but it seemed to do the trick, for Harry broke into motion, accepting the mug and bringing it to his mouth to gently blow across the surface of the liquid in an effort to help it cool more quickly.

Snape fixed his cup of tea the way he liked it and the two spent the following amount of time in an almost companionable silence. As the minutes passed, the professor watched as Harry slowly relaxed under the effects of the calming draught, the boy's body sinking further and further down on the bed, and his eyes falling closed only to come flying back open seconds later by a sheer force of will. Finally, however, those eyes fell shut and stayed that way, and Snape was glad for his fast reflexes as he was just in time to catch the emptied mug as it slipped from the boy's limp fingers.

Heading to the door with the tray and its contents in hand, Snape pulled out his wand to lower the lights and was almost out the door when he stopped with a groan of irritation. Shutting his eyes, he muttered, "Merlin save me from foolish Gryffindors," and another flick of his wand sent the blanket flying up into the air, only to resettle it self properly over Harry's body.

With a _click_, Snape shut the door and headed off to bed as well.

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A/N: Sorry, this chapter took so long to post. To make up for it, I've made it extra long; I hope you enjoyed it. I had to go to a public library almost an hour away from my house to get this posted. I've been without phone service and internet service ever since Hurricane Gustov went through; if fact, I just got power back a few days ago and it's been three weeks since the hurricane made landfall…over my house! And then, no sooner had we returned home, we had to evacuate again because Hurricane Ike flooded our town. The roads were impassable until a few days ago.

Now for the good news!! My house was undamaged from either hurricane! In fact, it's the only house in the entire town that suffered no flood damage or severe wind damage. I can only say that there's a lot of power in prayer!

Unfortunately, my internet provider will be unable to fix my connection for another two months…ARRGH! I know this will keep me from posting as often as I want to, but I will be trying to make the chapters longer to make up for the long wait.

Thanks to you all for your patience and support. Please send me a review; it will be nice hearing from you now with everything that's been going on. Bye for now, and Happy Reading!!


	12. Back to Class

Disclaimer: Oh, how I wish I owned the Harry Potter universe…or at least Snape!

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Where Do I Go From Here?

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Chap. 12 Back to Class

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Harry woke up the following Thursday morning feeling more refreshed than he had all summer, despite the nightmare. Remembering the events that had followed his night-time awakening, he sat for several minutes pondering his professor's uncharacteristic behavior. The man had brought him cocoa for Merlin's sake. Shaking his head in disbelief and wondering if he had just imagined it all, Harry threw his covers off and started to make his way to his door. Just as he was reaching for the door knob, he heard voices filtering through from the other side, and he stilled his movements to listen in.

oOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOo

"…of course not, Sev, but I heard from Mother yesterday, and she wants me to attend one of the meetings."

"Keep your voice down," Snape cautioned, quickly casting a privacy ward around them.

The young Slytherin looked calculatingly back at him and asked, "Why?" But then Draco noticed Snape eyeing the door to the spare bedroom and he grimaced knowingly.

"Oh, another one of _those_, huh?" he asked, swiping his pointer finger across his forearm in a warped representation of a knife.

"That's enough, Draco," Snape reprimanded, standing from his chair by the fire and tossing the Potion's Journal he had been reading onto the seat as he walked towards the table in the corner.

Draco was quick to hold his hands up in a placating gesture, "Alright, alright." But instead of joining Snape at the table, he headed towards the door as if to open it. "So, who's in there this time?"

Draco stopped before actually reaching the door and awaited an answer, but Snape was resolutely silent. The teen gave Snape a knowing look and voiced his thoughts out loud.

"I know it isn't one of us Slytherins…no one was missing from the common room last night…unless it was a Firstie; I don't know all of the new ones yet."

Snape, at this point, was purposely ignoring him, hoping to discourage Draco from further snooping, but instead, the teen resorted to that particular tone of voice that Snape so often heard when the boy was trying to convince his mother of buying him something particularly expensive.

"Come on, Sev. Can't you give me a hint? You know I won't tell. If there's one thing us Slytherins are good at, it's keeping a secret."

Growing tired of that particular line of questioning, Snape said the only thing he could think of that might put an end to the conversation.

"Be that as it may, Draco, you wouldn't have liked it if I had informed anyone of _your_ stay two years ago."

Draco balked, but as he made his way to join Snape at the table, he noticed the man's mixed look of anger and alarm. Turning to see what had gotten his professor's attention, Draco was surprised to see Harry Potter standing in the open doorway of the bedroom with an unreadable expression on his face. Several tense seconds passed as they stared at each other, and then Harry bolted back into his room, slamming the door behind him.

"Potter?!" Draco turned from Harry's door and Snape could see a look of total incredulity on his face. "It's Potter?" he asked again. Then the blond Slytherin smiled wickedly. "Oh, this is fantastic! Just wait until I tell-"

"I wouldn't finish that sentence if I were you," Snape warned. Draco opened his mouth to argue the point but Snape stood from his seat and bit out, "Not another word, Draco!"

Draco froze in shock, unused to having Snape's full wrath directed at him. Snape stalked towards him until he was scowling down into Draco's disbelieving face. "You'll not breathe a word to your friends, nor anyone else, about Potter's placement here."

"But-" Draco pleaded, but Snape interrupted once again, "No, Draco. Not. A. Word."

Properly cowed, Draco grudgingly muttered, "Yes, Sir."

Snape then pointed to the closest chair and harshly ordered, "Sit."

Draco made his way to the table as Snape approached Harry's room. Finding the door locked, he pulled his wand from within his sleeve and remedied the problem quickly, making his way quietly into the room.

Snape stopped only two paces in when he caught sight of the boy. Harry was sitting on his bed with his arms wrapped about himself, rocking back and forth in a self-soothing motion. When the sound of the door shutting alerted him to Snape's presence, Harry stilled and turned his face away, peering out the window at the grey, overcast sky.

Refusing to allow the boy to wallow in pity, Snape briskly said, "Remember rule number three, Potter; no moping about. Your first class starts in half an hour and I expect you to eat before you leave."

Snape then reached into his pocket and withdrew two vials of potion. Harry silently took them from his Professor as the man explained.

"The milky, green one is another dose of the same stomach soothing potion you took the night before, and should last for about twelve hours; the other is a nutrient potion. You'll be taking another dose of it with your evening meals as well."

Harry quaffed the first potion easily, but grimaced at the nutrient potion. He remembered how thick and bitter it was the last time he was forced to take a dose and he was not looking forward to trying to swallow it down.

"Now, Mr. Potter, or I'll be forced to pour it down your throat."

Harry turned wary eyes up to his professor, no doubt remembering how he had been forced to take the last dose of nutrient potion, and he certainly didn't want to repeat that experience. Taking a deep breath, he swallowed it down as quickly as he could, gagging slightly as he did so. He handed the empty vials back to Snape, but as he began to leave the room with them, Harry blurted out, "What's Malfoy doing here?"

"That is none of your concern, I assure you."

Ignoring Snape's statement, Harry then asked, "And why was he calling you 'Sev'?"

Snape rolled his eyes and explained, "Potter, he is my godson, and it is perfectly acceptable for him to refer to me in such familiar terms."

"Oh."

Snape waited a few moments longer to be sure nothing else was forthcoming from the teen, and he made his way back out of the room.

As Snape neared the table, he could see that Draco was still sitting where he had been told and was patiently waiting for Snape's return. Time passed in silence, both of them waiting for Harry's appearance so that breakfast could be served, but when he still had not shown up after several minutes, Snape rose from his chair with a growl of irritation, and went to check on the boy.

Snape found him sitting on his bed, still in his pajamas, and staring out the window yet again.

"I thought I told you to get ready."

Harry turned just enough to see Snape from the corner of his eye before directing his gaze back to the cloudy sky. "I don't really feel up to classes today."

Snape raised an eyebrow at that remark, and a few moments later, Harry turned back to him and pleaded, "Can't I just stay here for today?"

"And leave you alone and unsupervised in my quarters for the day?" Snape questioned, a hint of amusement evident in his voice despite his trying to hide it. "I think not. Get up and get dressed; you are keeping us waiting and breakfast is getting cold."

Confused, Harry asked, "Us?"

"Yes," Snape answered, "Draco, and myself."

With a groan, Harry asked, "Why is he still here?"

"Why does it bother you so much that he is?" Snape inquired.

Harry could not help the sound of his anger that made itself known as he answered, "He's going to tell everybody; by tomorrow, the entire school will know where I am and why!"

"So sure of that are you?" Snape smirked as if the very implication of Draco doing that was absurd and then swept from the room, shutting the door behind him. Harry stared at the door, taken aback at the humor in his professor's tone and wondering if there were some deeper meaning behind what the man had just said, but then he could hear him call out from just beyond the door, "Fifteen minutes left, Potter."

With a frustrated sigh, Harry pulled himself from the bed to rummage through the contents of his trunk for some clothes, pulling his wrinkled school robe out next. He dressed, and after a half-hearted attempt to smooth out the wrinkles, he grabbed his book bag from where it had been previously thrown during his search for clothes and hurried out his door.

It wasn't until he had come several steps from his door that he realized Malfoy was staring at him. In his haste, he had momentarily forgotten that the Slytherin would be joining them for breakfast that morning, and he halted in his tracks yet again, until a pointed stare from his professor made him continue his previous path, shuffling his feet in reluctance. All thoughts of eating quickly fled from his mind as Draco continued to unabashedly stare at him.

Harry settled himself into the seat opposite Draco's and cast an annoyed look at the blond, resenting the other teen's presence in its entirety. Draco, however, merely raised a slender brow, showing no other sign of being affected by Harry's contempt in any other way.

Harry then glanced in Snape's direction as well, and was unsurprised to see the man sharing a similar look of disgust across his face. Self conscience now, Harry looked down at himself and at the sorry state his clothes were in. He nervously tried to smooth the wrinkles out of his robe yet again, but he did nothing more than succeed at drying his sweaty palms against the fabric.

Snape's demanding voice broke the awkward silence, "Do tell me you are not seriously considering going to your classes looking like that."

Harry breathed heavily as he fumed in his seat and refused to answer, clutching his fists at his sides while Draco made a poor attempt at biting back several sniggers of amusement at the comment. His face reddening in both embarrassment and anger, Harry stood so swiftly that his chair toppled over backwards and he gripped the edges of the table so hard his fingers hurt.

"Fine!" he bit out, and he angrily yanked the mess of a robe back over his head and threw it onto the floor at his feet. "Now it's not a problem!"

Harry then ran back to his room and slammed the door shut, only to lean against it once it was closed. Sliding down to the floor, he wrapped his arms around his knees and took deep breaths in an effort to calm himself. As the seconds passed, Harry's anger quickly turned to dread. _Oh, shit! _Harry's thought's raced, _I just yelled at Snape, I just yelled at Snape!_

Bowing his head until his forehead rested on his knees, Harry strained his ears for any sound that might herald his coming doom.

oOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOo

Meanwhile, at the table, Snape angrily turned to Draco, "You know, you've only made the situation worse by amusing yourself at his expense."

"But why shouldn't I?" Draco reasoned, "You had practically done the same thing."

"I did not. It was simply a matter of an adult informing his charge that he was dressed inappropriately. Now that Potter is under my care, I am the one to be held responsible if he goes to classes looking like he slept in his clothes, so don't proceed to think in any way that I was ridiculing him."

Draco was silent for several seconds then quietly said, "Sorry."

Snape gave a small shake of his head as if to dismiss the entire thing and impatiently ordered Draco to proceed with breakfast by himself, and he rose from his chair. Taking two steps, he stooped to pick up the discarded garment and paced over to Harry's door. Pausing with his hand hovering over the knob, Snape then leaned closer to the door. Hearing nothing, not a sob or even a shout of anger, he turned the knob and started to push the door open, only to find his way impeded by something blocking the door. A second later, there was a sound of shuffling clothes and feet, and the door swung freely open in the professor's grip.

Walking in, Snape could see Harry standing by his trunk, his back to him.

"Mr. Potter."

Harry neither turned nor acknowledged his professor in any other way for almost a full minute, and just when Snape was about to address the boy again, Harry shakily said, "I-I'm looking for a different robe, Sir." Then, he broke into action, quickly stooping down to open his trunk, but before he could do more than reach towards its contents, a length of black fabric was held out in his direction and he slowly raised his eyes to see Professor Snape dangling the previously discarded robes from his outstretched hand.

Harry cautiously took them from his grasp, sure that at any second, he would be on the receiving end of one of the man's famous tirades, but when nothing at all was said, Harry decided to take a chance and perhaps quell his professor's anger before the lecture could start.

"I'm sorry, Sir."

Snape was silent for the few moments following that. Honestly, he was surprised that the boy had apologized; it was certainly the first time he had ever heard the boy do so. Grasping the open lid of the trunk, Snape slowly lowered it as Harry retreated to sit on his bed. Snape then sat on the end of the closed trunk and withdrew his wand for the second time that morning and pointed it at the robe that Harry now had piled into his lap.

Harry didn't know what to expect from Professor Snape after the apology, but he surely hadn't expected the man to draw his wand on him. Wondering if he had truly gotten the man so angry that he would hex one of his students, Harry leapt up from the bed, nervously looking at the door and trying to determine if he would be able to escape before the man could utter whatever curse he was thinking of.

Snape took in Harry's frightened look with alarm, and he quickly lowered his wand and explained, "I was merely going to cast a de-wrinkling charm on your robe, Potter."

Harry eased himself back down to the bed, his face reddening yet again, and he mumbled out another, "Sorry."

"There is no need to apologize," Snape said, "I believe I would also assume the worse if someone pointed their wand at me. But still, …Harry," And upon hearing the man use his first name, Harry looked earnestly at Snape as he finished his thoughts aloud, "You ought to know that I would never cause you harm."

Harry cast a disbelieving look that almost made Snape snort with amusement, and he was sure the boy could hear the humor in his voice as he went on to say, "Yes, I might make you take potions against your will; and yes, I might restrain you to keep you from harming yourself; but those things were only done with your best interest in mind. I would never intentionally harm you. You need never fear me."

Harry gave an almost unperceivable nod of his head, but felt unable to do much more than that. Truthfully, the entire admission had made him feel uncomfortable, as if he had been told some secret thing. Certainly, if the Professor felt this way, then he wouldn't be so mean to Harry all the time. Unable to reconcile the differences between Snape's statements and his previous actions, Harry decided he would need proof before he believed a word that man said to him.

Snape was able to read Harry's expressions as easily as one might read a book. He could tell the child was having a hard time believing it; after all, it's not as if the child had had a great many adults in his life that he could trust. However, now was not the time to ponder such things.

Casting _Tempus_, Snape informed Harry that, "There's only a few minutes left before class. I still expect you to eat something before you go, so be quick about it."

Snape cast the charm over the wrinkled robe and headed out the door, followed only a moment later by Harry, who was busy pulling his robe over his head as he walked.

By the time the pair reached the table, Draco was just finishing up and was gathering his things to leave. As the Slytherin turned on his way to the door, Snape's purposeful cough stopped him in his tracks.

"I believe you have something to say to Mr. Potter."

Draco spun around with a gob-smacked look upon his face. "You can't be serious!"

"Indeed, I am." Snape raised a single brow at the blond teen, and the boy's features melted into a look of loathing. Still, when Draco continued to stand there, completely silent, Snape added, "Perhaps a loss of house points would convince you as to the serious nature of my request."

Draco took a deep breath and then calmly stated, "No, Sir; that won't be necessary."

He then turned slightly to face an equally shocked Harry and begrudgingly said, "I apologize, Potter."

He then looked back over his shoulder to see if that was enough to satisfy his Head-of-house, and Snape gave a nod, allowing Draco to finally escape the room, knowing he would never be able to make the young, proud, Slytherin give a truly sincere apology, especially not to Harry Potter of all people.

When they were once again alone, Snape proceeded to serve himself some of the eggs and toast that the house elves had brought earlier. He had already scooped up the first bite, but had yet to bring it to his mouth when he noticed that Harry had only taken a single slice of toast and was merely nibbling on its edge.

"You need to eat more than that. You can't survive on bread and water, Potter."

Harry lowered his toast back to the plate and explained, "I really don't feel all that hungry, Sir." Actually, it wasn't that he wasn't hungry; he was just feeling exceedingly nauseous. His emotions that morning had been all over the place thanks to Malfoy and Snape, and he wasn't sure he could stomach anything at the moment, despite the stomach soothing potion he had taken earlier. However, it appeared Snape knew he wasn't telling the truth, because a moment later, the man scooped a serving of scrambled eggs onto the plate.

Five minutes later, Snape was finishing up the last of his meal and saw that Harry still hadn't eaten more than a bite of toast. Hoping that gentle guidance would work where his stern commands had not, Snape set his silverware down and scooted his chair slightly so that he could address the boy face to face.

"Harry, if you don't start eating normal meals and putting weight back on, I will be forced to take you to Madam Pomfrey. There's more than one way of getting nourishment into your body, but it's not a pleasant experience. You need to eat more than that."

Harry's nervously stared down at his plate. _There's no way I can eat all of that! _He looked back up and saw that Snape was still staring at him, and he took a forkful of eggs into his mouth, closing his eyes as he chewed in an effort to keep his nausea at bay.

Harry had choked down half of it by the time Snape finally declared that he had eaten enough, and he rushed to get his bag. Before he could make it out the door, however, Snape stopped him and put his hand on his shoulder.

"I expect you to attend all your classes and if I hear from a single teacher that you are skipping again, I will start escorting you to each of your classes myself; is that understood?"

Harry gave a rapid nod, but still Snape had more to say. "And you had better be at lunch, because I'll be watching."

Another rapid head shake later, and Harry was finally able to make his escape, racing away from Snape's rooms as if hounds were at his heels, and making it to History of Magic just before Professor Binns closed the massive oak doors to the classroom.

oOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOo

His first two classes had gone as smoothly as Harry could have expected, all things considered. Professor Binns acted as he always did and lectured on and on while the occasional student would crane around in their desk to stare at Harry and whisper things to those sitting next to them. Then came Charms and the pitying looks from Professor Flitwick.

He had seen Ron and Hermione first thing that morning, but had been unable to find an empty seat near them in History of Magic due to his late arrival. Then, in Charms, Flitwick had pulled him aside as the rest of the students were finding a place to sit, only to express his sorrow at hearing about Harry's 'situation'.

By the time Harry got away, most of the seats had filled up, but Ron had luckily saved him a seat at the table next to his and Hermione's. Ron had proceeded to try to talk to him at every chance he got, but after the third reprimand from Flitwick, the little professor moved Ron to a table on the other side of the room, and Harry was stuck with Dean Thomas as his partner at the end of class. Although Dean had tried to be amiable, Harry just wasn't in the mood, and only put forth a half-hearted effort into learning the charm they were assigned. As a result, they got a poor grade at the end of class and Dean wasn't so happy with him after that.

After Charms was lunch, and Harry trailed behind Ron and Hermione as they made their way to the Great Hall. Settling down in their usual spot, Harry chanced a look towards the Staff table and was unsettled to see Professor Stroper staring at him yet again. Refocusing his eyes to the other end of the Staff table, he saw that Snape was keeping an eye on him just as he said he would.

Unnerved somewhat by the stares, Harry hastily piled some food onto his plate, not really paying attention to what he was doing until Hermione stretched out her hand and stopped his arm as he was reaching for the bowl of lima beans to his left.

"Harry," Hermione started worriedly, "you don't even like lima beans, do you?"

Harry saw her staring at the mess of a plate he had created and he dropped the serving ladle clutched in his hand.

"Oh. Sorry. I guess my mind is on something else." He knew it was lame, but he could think of nothing more to say. Harry picked up his fork and started to poke at his food, looking back up at his friends just in time to see them share a worried look between them. Whatever was left of Harry's appetite fled at that sight, and he spent the following half hour poking his food and moving it about from one side of his plate to the other.

"Harry," It was Ron this time. "You really should try the ham. It's good." Ron smiled in-between bites of food, and Harry knew his friend was just trying to encourage him to eat. Looking back towards the Staff table, Harry saw Snape give him a pointed stare and he did the best he could after that to eat as much as he was able, but by the time the plates started disappearing at the end of lunch, he realized he hadn't eaten more than a dozen bites. Worried that Snape would know, Harry headed off to his next class, Potions, with a heavy heart, and even heavier feet.

Practically dragging his feet the whole way, he got to class just before Snape closed the doors, and as he was about to take the seat next to Hermione, Snape grabbed him by the shoulder of his robe and led him to the front of the classroom to sit at the front table. And as if that wasn't bad enough, no sooner had he sat down, he realized that Malfoy was sitting at the only other seat at the table.

"But, Professor Snape," Draco immediately protested, "I don't need a partner. Especially not some half-witted Gryff-"

A single look from Snape had stopped Draco's complaints before he could finish his insult, and he silently fumed in his seat as Snape went about explaining their Potion assignment for the day. Draco knew full well why Snape had done it. The potion they were supposed to be working on today would involve a lot of chopping of ingredients and Snape expected Draco to do that part while Harry added the items into the cauldron. This was a tactic commonly used by his godfather during similar situations, even if it was usually a Slytherin that he had to be paired with.

Surprisingly enough to both Harry and Draco, the class went relatively smoothly. Neither was in a mood to talk much, and as a result, they worked quietly, albeit grudgingly together. The Potion for the day was a relatively simple task with it still being the first week of school, and the class was finished early.

Snape had just released the class for the day, and Harry was cleaning up his workstation when he started wondering what Snape was up too. That man never let class out early. Harry's ponderings were answered soon enough, for as he made his way up the aisle, Snape called him back into the room, and he had to wave Ron and Hermione off, telling them he would catch up with them in Defense class.

"You wanted me, Sir?"

"Mr. Potter," Snape started without even looking up at Harry, the man's hands busy collecting up the many small vials of potion samples the class had turned in. "Was there a particular reason you hardly touched your lunch?" Snape suddenly looked up at him, and Harry knew that he had been found out for sure. "Or was there something you didn't understand about my directive this morning."

"Umm…" Harry honestly had no reply for the man, and so he fidgeted under the Professor's hard stare.

Snape ordered him, "Sit." Then a couple waves of his wand later, Snape had spelled shut the classroom doors and called forth a house elf. Within seconds, a plate of food was set onto the table right in front of Harry.

"I expect you to eat most of that," Snape lectured, "Or you'll be taking a trip to see Poppy before your next class, which is in thirty minutes, so I suggest you hurry."

Harry stared in dread at the plate. It contained a slice of baked ham, some veggies, and a roll. No, it wasn't a lot, but he still wasn't sure if he could eat it. He poked at the ham with his fork and watched as its juices flowed from the four holes Harry had just made. Feeling slightly repulsed, he turned his plate so that the ham was furthest away from him and he started eating the veggies.

Harry watched his professor as he ate; and when Professor Snape informed him he had only five minutes left, he stuffed as much of the ham as he could into his mouth, desperate to avoid getting sent to Pomfrey. Snape happened to look back up just then and curled his lip at Harry's total lack of table manners and silently resolved that it would be yet another issue they would have to resolve during Harry's stay in his quarters.

Harry swallowed down his mouthful of meat just as Snape informed him he was out of time. He let Snape inspect his plate, and he hoped the man would be pleased that he ate almost two-thirds of it. Snape merely raised an eyebrow, clearly disappointed, but regardless, said, "I guess that's good enough for now, but I expect you to eat just as much at dinner tonight."

"Yes, Sir." Harry then hurried out the door, his anxiety already building at the thought of having to do it again at dinner. He was one floor away from the classroom, when Harry felt his stomach lurch. Finding his way to the nearest bathroom, Harry threw his bag down and hurried to the closest stall, barely getting there in time before emptying the contents of his stomach into the toilet.

Coughing a little on the sour spittle taste left in his mouth, Harry rinsed his mouth out at one of the sinks and hurried off to class, praying he wasn't late. The last thing he needed was for Professor Stroper to be on his case as well.

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A/N: I am SO sorry it took this long to post this chapter. Between long hours at my job, and all my kids, it's hard to find the time I need to write. I know this chapter isn't as long as the last one I posted, but I'm fixing to get to the part of the story that has a lot of interactions with Stroper in it and this would be the best point in which to break it up. I hope this chapter is up to my usual standard, because I almost feel as if it were missing something…maybe it's just because it has been so long since I wrote a chapter.

I hope the long delay between chapters has not discouraged any of you readers out there. I promise I will NEVER abandon a fic, though I do find it hard to forgive myself for making you all wait so long for an update. Shame on me!

Well, let me know what you think and if you are all still out there reading this. I greatly appreciate every review I get, and it does a lot to encourage me when I sit down to write. Thanks to all my precious readers out there; I hope you enjoy it!!!

PLEASE REVIEW!


	13. Hands On Experience

Disclaimer: I don't own any of the character's except Stroper, dang it!

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Where Do I Go From Here?

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Chap. 13 Hands-on Experience

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Running the whole way, Harry finally made it to his DADA class just as Professor Stroper opened to doors to allow the students to enter. Still panting, Harry slid through the throng of students as they made their way inside, and looked around the classroom for Ron or Hermione. Spotting his friends near the front, Harry hurried forward, hoping no one would take the empty seat next to Ron, but it appeared he needn't worry after all, for Ron was saving it for him.

"Oi! This seat's taken; Go sit somewhere else."

Annoyed, Parvarti went to one of the empty seats a couple of rows back, casting a light glare in Ron's direction, which he steadfastly ignored. Harry directed an apologetic look in Parvarti's direction before settling into the seat.

"What took you so long, Harry?"

Hermione leaned forward in her seat, also eager to hear the answer to Ron's question, and Harry quickly tried to think of something to say that would not raise any more suspicions with his friends. He didn't want to tell them why Snape wanted him to stay after class because that would garner a thousand more questions, and he certainly couldn't tell them about stopping on the way to throw up in the bathroom.

Luckily, he was saved from having to answer when Stroper addressed the class.

"Settle down, now, settle down. We'll be picking up today where we left off last class. Now, who remembers the three basic types of shielding spells?"

Harry was surprised when a dozen hands shot into the air, mostly Gryffindors he mused. He had assumed Hermione would be the only one interested in answering questions in class as per the norm, but apparently, Stroper's last lesson must have really had an effect on the students if this many were so eager to respond.

Stroper pointed towards the back and said with a pleased look that was almost a smile, "Alright, Finnegan, let's hear it."

"Reflective, deflective, and absorptive, Sir."

"Correct, Mr. Finnegan, but which of those three can be unpredictable at times?"

Seamus was silent, obviously not knowing the answer, and Harry saw most of the hands that were up only moments before slowly lower. But of course, Hermione's stayed unwavering in place, and Stroper called on her next for the answer.

"Deflective, Sir. While reflective shields bounce a spell back towards the caster, deflective shields merely bounce the spell in any random direction, making it hard to accurately judge where the spell may land. The only exception is when the deflective shield is altered during casting with a directional limitation."

"Correct, Ms. Granger; and fifteen points to Gryffindor for a well researched answer."

Harry sat in confused silence, wondering just how much he had missed during his skipped classes. He pulled his Defense book out of his bag and flipped through the first few pages as Professor Stroper announced, "Today, we'll be going over the ways in which a deflective spell can be altered. So, turn to page 38 and read to page 42, then we'll be practicing wand movements."

The room was filled with the sound of shuffling pages and excited chatter until Stroper reprimanded the class to be quiet, and the noise died off as everyone immersed themselves in their reading assignment. Harry's eyes strayed from the page he was reading to look up as Stroper passed his desk. The professor was pacing back and forth by the front row of desks as he watched the class read, and Harry could have swore the man had been staring at him a moment ago. But as he swept by his desk again, he didn't look Harry's way even once and Harry decided he must have been imaging things.

As the students finished their reading one by one, the noise level began to rise again until Stroper spoke up.

"Books away, wands out! Time to put your new knowledge to practical use. I want everyone to practice the wand motions for a basic deflective shield as described in your text."

There was a scraping of chair legs against stone as the students rose from their seats to take up a defensive stance. Harry looked around for a few moments before also slowly rising from his seat. After almost getting hit by Ron during one of his more enthusiastic swings of his wand, Harry stepped to the side, preferring to stand half-way in the aisle rather than risk getting wacked again.

As the students practiced their wand movements, pausing now and then to check their books to be sure they were doing it properly, Stroper abandoned his pacing in the front of the room in preference to pacing up and down each aisle, correcting a person's stance or grip every few steps.

As he made his way from the back of the room towards the front, Harry noticed the man getting closer and closer to where he stood, and he quickly checked his book to be sure he was doing the wand practice correctly. Seconds later, he felt the hairs on the back of his neck go up and he had the distinct feeling that he was being watched. Throwing a wary glance over his shoulder, he was surprised to see how close Professor Stroper was standing.

Before Harry had the time to ponder how the man had gotten so close without him realizing it, Stroper bit out, "Eyes front. You shouldn't allow yourself to be distracted during spell casting. Focus as you would if you were in battle, Mr. Potter."

Harry trained his eyes to the blackboard in the front of the room and swung his wand in the gentle arch as directed in the book, but he nearly jumped when, a moment later, a hand settled on his shoulder. He knew it was Stroper, but he hadn't a clue what the man was doing. The hand slid down Harry's arm until the man had gripped Harry's wrist in a strong hold. By this point, Harry had nervously ceased all movement.

Stroper's body was close enough against his own, that Harry could feel the heat radiating off him, and the man spoke gruffly into Harry's ear, "Straighten your wrist. You must hold the wand perfectly straight as you cast, or your shield won't be as strong."

And just like that, the man was gone again, off to inspect other students' wand work. Glancing around, it appeared as if no one had noticed the recent interaction between Harry and Stroper, so, Harry continued practicing just as the rest of the class was doing, but from the corner of his eye, he watched his new professor. Yes, he was correcting other students as well, but not once that Harry could tell did the man sidle up as closely to one of them as he had to Harry.

The rest of the class went smoothly after that, and Harry was thankful that after the wand practice, Stroper had followed up with a lecture rather than any more practice. As class ended, and everyone was busy getting their things packed into their bags, Stroper made his way through the throng of students making their way out the door and whispered into Harry's ear, "Don't forget your extra Defense training, Harry. I expect you back in half an hour. Don't be late."

Harry nervously nodded his understanding and hurried up the aisle where Ron and Hermione were waiting on him. The three had made their way down the corridor and around a corner, leaving their classmates behind, before Hermione broke the silence.

"We tried to visit you last night, but you weren't in the infirmary."

"Uh, yeah…" Harry trailed off, not certain how much information he wanted to share with his friends; but Hermione was nothing if not persistent.

"Where were you?"

Harry was silent for a few moments and Ron asked, "You're allowed to tell us aren't you? I mean, Dumbledore didn't tell you not to, did he?"

Surprised at the turn the conversation was taking, Harry stammered out, "Oh, no, nothing like that. I was just moved, that's all."

"Why," Hermione earnestly asked, "Were you not safe there?"

_Safe from everyone but myself_, Harry morosely thought, but then spoke up, his voice barely more than a whisper, "Professor Dumbledore and Madam Pomfrey decided I'd be better off if I stayed with one of the professors."

"Oh," Hermione's interest was obviously peaked, "Which one, Harry?"

Harry couldn't bear to tell his friends that he was stuck with their hated Potions Professor, so he remained silent, refusing to make eye contact as they made their way down a set of stairs. His silence, however, seemed to speak louder than words, for Ron piped up just then.

"Oh Gods, Harry, it's not Snape is it?!" The incredulity in his voice was evident, and when Harry refused to answer, it only confirmed the statement and Ron came to a complete stop as he stared at his best friend with a mixed look of horror and disbelief.

Harry finally came to a stop as well and looked up at his friends. In a moment of bravery, he quickly said what he needed to say before he lost his nerve. "Look, there are a few things I should probably tell you both."

Ron and Hermione both nodded and Harry glanced to his left and right before saying, "Just not here, Okay? Let's find somewhere more private."

Soon, the trio had made their way to an abandoned classroom and slipped inside. Hermione cast a few wards to insure that they would not be overheard or interrupted and they seated themselves in a few of the old dust-covered chairs that were sitting in a corner of the room.

After a few minutes of silence, Harry nervously began, "I don't know how much you know about why I was in the infirmary to begin with, but I know you've both noticed I've not been eating as much as I usually do…"

As so it spilled forth. Harry told his friends about some of the things that had happened that summer, keeping the more brutal happenings to himself. He told them about how the forced starvation while at his relatives now made it hard for him to eat without feeling sick. He told them how he was now staying with Professor Snape. He told them many of those small details that he didn't mind sharing with them, but he resolutely refused to utter a single word about his problem with cutting himself. There were some things he was certain he would never feel comfortable talking with them about.

By the time Harry was done speaking to his friends, he realized with a start that his half-hour must have been up a long time ago and he rushed from the room, waving good-bye to Ron and Hermione as he slipped out the door. Hurrying back up the way he had come, Harry cast _Tempus _and found out he was fifteen minutes late. Skidding to a stop just outside of the Defense classroom, Harry fought to regain control of his quickened breathing before entering. After taking one last gulp of air, Harry slipped into the room, silently praying to himself that Stroper would not notice how late he was, but all hope of that happening was dashed to pieces as the man looked up from where he was seated at his desk and said, "You are late, Mr. Potter."

Stroper stood and fixed Harry with a hard stare and said, "I do not tolerate tardiness. I will forgive your lack of punctuality since this is your first day of training, but see to it that it doesn't happen again."

"Yes, Sir." Harry let out a sigh of relief that he wasn't being punished for his oversight, and he made his way to the front of the classroom, dropping his bag atop one of the desks in the front row. As he was about to sit down, Stroper stopped him with a reprimand.

"Not so fast there, Harry. You'll be sitting up here with me for your extra lessons."

As Harry scooped his bag back up and cautiously made his way to Stroper's desk, the man further explained. "I find it too impersonal to teach some one who is sitting that far away. Since it'll only be the two of us, we'll be sitting together at my desk."

Professor Stroper than summoned a spare chair from across the room with a silent wave of his wand, and he placed it opposite his own chair, so that Harry would be seated facing him. Harry laid his bag next to the chair and sat down, looking up at Stroper who remained standing, staring down at Harry as if he were some type of interesting specimen.

Suddenly feeling awkward with Stroper's apparent appraisal of him, Harry ducked his head and pretended to rummage about in his bag for his quill, despite the fact that it lay quite easily within reach at the top of his bag. Finally, out of the corner of his eye, Harry caught Stroper shifting over to his own seat once again, and he pulled his quill from his bag and sat it on the table before him in preparation for the upcoming lesson.

Overall, the lesson proceeded well, and nearing the end of it, Harry found himself quite interested in what Professor Stroper had to say, despite his initial weariness in the beginning. Stroper spent his time teaching Harry what he had missed from the previous class he had skipped, and Harry was excited to try out the new shielding charm.

When Stroper finally decided to allow Harry to practice the incantation, he instructed him to stand alongside the desk and cast the spell. Harry stood from his seat, positioned himself where he had been instructed to stand, and he raised his wand in preparation, but he was interrupted before he could actually say the spell when Stroper came striding around the desk.

"No, no, Harry. Your stance is all wrong. Remember, this type of shield is used to protect you from very strong spells. You must ground yourself in such a way that you won't get knocked over by the force of the spell hitting your barrier."

Harry looked down at his legs and widened his stance before glancing back over his shoulder to where the professor stood appraising his actions with a critical eye. Unfortunately, Harry could hear the man give a disapproving cluck of his tongue before coming closer and saying, "Here, let me show you."

And before Harry had a chance to protest, the man had taken a place directly behind him, and Harry's breath caught in his throat as the man's arms came overtop his own, Stroper's hands closing around Harry's in a warm grip.

"Hold your wand arm higher, while your free hand is drawn back to help counterbalance your weight."

Stroper moved Harry's limbs to the desired angles and then said in a slightly lowered voice. "There, just like that. Now," and with this, Stroper's hands found Harry's hips, "You must keep your weight on your front leg, but keep your back straight." And then the man was pulling Harry's hips towards him, forcing Harry's body against his own.

Harry could feel his back against the man's broad chest, and his face reddened with embarrassment when he felt Stroper's pelvis up against his bum. His voice too shaky to even try to say the incantation now, Harry suddenly found himself overwrought with slight tremors that, after a few moments, caused even his teeth to slightly chatter.

Then, Harry felt Stroper's hot, moist breath whisper into his ear, "Perfect, Harry. Just perfect."

Harry's hips were unexpectedly released a second later as Stroper took a couple steps back, and the next time the man spoke, it was with a normal tone of voice. "That's perfect, Harry. Keep that stance. Now, I want you to try the spell again, only this time, flourish your wand a bit more; it should strengthen the spell."

Hand still slightly trembling, Harry did as he was told, producing a shimmering blue shield that wrapped a third of the way around his body.

"That's excellent, Harry! Job well done!"

But Harry found himself unable to find any pleasure in the praise; his mind was locked within that uncomfortable feeling that occurred when the man had pressed himself against him. Stroper clapped him upon the back and sent him on his way, and Harry left the classroom that afternoon with his thoughts heavy on his mind.

Evening was swiftly approaching, and as Harry made his way down the darkening corridor, he gave little thought to his surroundings, barely catching himself in time to keep from falling off the edge of one of the moving sets of stairs. Taking a different route to bypass that particular set of stairs, Harry's thoughts kept straying back to the recent Defense lesson. Thinking he could still feel Stroper's hands where the man's fingers had held onto his arms and hips, Harry gave a shudder and rubbed his hands over his arms as if he could shake off the uncomfortable feeling.

Minutes later, when he was shakily making his way down the only remaining set of stairs that separated him from his destination, Harry slowed to a stop half-way down, feeling slightly light-headed. Wrapping his arms around himself due to a sudden chill, he started to wonder if it was due to the castle's propensity of drafts that was the culprit, or if it was due to his experience just minutes ago. Before he could think on it much longer, he spotted his friends at the entrance of the Great Hall, apparently waiting on him.

"Hey, Harry, you alright?" Ron had made his way up the stairs to meet him and he grabbed Harry's elbow as if to steady his friend. "You're looking kinda' pale."

"Um, yeah, I'm fine, Ron. It's just been a long day, that's all." Harry pulled his elbow free and went down the few remaining steps, stopping briefly at Hermione's side before walking into the Great Hall, leaving his friends worriedly hurrying after him.

Harry quickly made his way to his usual spot at the Gryffindor table, feeling as if his legs might give out on him at any second. Plopping down in his seat, he gave a sigh of relief as the dizzy feeling started to dissipate and he looked up to watch his friends take their seats as well.

Within minutes, the Great Hall filled with students, and dinner appeared on the table seconds later. Noticing the covert glances he kept getting from his friends, Harry grabbed up a roll and took his time buttering it, keeping his head down so as to avoid making eye contact with anyone sitting around them, hoping that it would be enough to keep anyone from trying to start a conversation with him.

Harry's eyes strayed to the front of the room, watching as Professor Snape took a serving of food from one of the dishes by his plate, but when the man's dark eyes suddenly looked right at him, Harry quickly turned back to his own plate.

Throughout the meal, Ron and Hermione kept up a running dialogue about how delicious everything was in the hopes of getting Harry to eat a bit more, inadvertently wearing his patience thin. Feeling pressured, Harry finally relented and took a serving of steamed carrots upon Hermione's persistence, and he silently ate them as slowly as possible, stabbing them one at a time with his fork as if he were venting the day's frustration on the hapless vegetables.

"So, Harry," Ron began, trying to lighten the mood, "How did your extra study session go?"

Harry finally looked up from his meager meal and saw Ron looking enthusiastically at him, his brow raised and a smile lighting up his face. Harry knew Ron was referring to the class he had with Stroper, and he turned to see that Hermione shared a similar expression as she listened with rapt attention.

Harry wasn't sure what he should say about the class. Yes, he had learned a lot, and yes, Stroper was a good teacher, but what had happened near the end of class was truly weird, and Harry felt creeped out just thinking about it. Had the man purposely pressed on him like that, or was he really just trying to get Harry to stand correctly. _Perhaps_, Harry thought_, I'm looking into this too deeply. Maybe Stroper _was_ just trying to position me correctly._

Harry felt torn about how he should interpret Stroper's actions that day, but he was sure of one thing, despite whatever the man's intentions were, it made Harry very uncomfortable, and he was already starting to dread his next study session. Any further thoughts on the subject were interrupted by a worried feminine voice asking, "Harry?"

Turning back to his friends, he replied, "Sorry, Hermione. The class was very…informative."

Ron sat up a little straighter from where he had bent forward in his eagerness, and said, "I bet you'll be learning loads of new spells!"

Hermione shot him a look and Ron lowered his voice to a whisper, "Sorry, I forgot we had to keep it secret. So, did you learn any new spells?"

"Well, not really. We just worked on the stuff I missed from class."

Harry purposefully withheld the bit about Stroper getting all up close and personal with him, knowing that Hermione would likely try to make a mountain out of a molehill and he did not want her to analyze the situation any more than necessary, especially when he wasn't so sure about it all himself. Trying to change the subject, Harry asked, "So, what have you two been up to while I was in class?"

"Nothing much," Ron replied, reaching out to one of the nearby platters for more food. He put a sausage on his plate and then placed one on Harry's as well, carrying on with the conversation as if he had done nothing out of the usual.

"So, Harry, now that you're feeling better, do you have any idea when you'll get to come back to Gryffindor Tower?" Ron asked in-between bites of food.

The question startled Harry enough that he forgot all about the indignation he felt when Ron decided to put food on his plate without asking. He hadn't even thought up an excuse yet as to why he couldn't return right away. As far as they knew, he was on the mend and should, therefore, be allowed back to his normal place of residence. He fumbled about for an answer, but unable to formulate any kind of a response, he finally gave them a generic, "I don't know."

Ron looked disappointed, but Hermione seemed to take it all in stride, telling Ron how it's never good trying to rush these kinds of things, but after a few seconds, Harry tuned them both out. He had just looked up in time to see Stroper making his way to the Head table from the small side door he had just entered through._ What took him so long to make it to dinner_, Harry thought.

oOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOo

Up at the Head Table, as Stroper passed behind the other professors on the way to his seat, Snape couldn't help but snidely ask, "Have trouble finding your way down?"

Stroper ignored him and continued on his way, the slight narrowing of his eyes serving as the only sign that he was affected by the comment. Dumbledore shot Snape a disapproving look, but it didn't affect him in the least. As far as he was concerned, if Stroper didn't understand Dumbledore's one simple request that all professors be punctual to meals in order to 'set a good example for the students', then he would not hold back the insults. Honestly, even Potter had been on time, and from the look of things, it wasn't because the boy was hungry either.

Just then, the boy in question happened to look his way and Snape gave him a meaningful stare that got his message across. At that moment, the dour Potions Master almost had the inclination to smile at the way the boy seemed to jump in his seat. He watched as Harry attempted to make it look like he was eating, but even from the distance away at which Snape was sitting, he could tell that the boy was pushing his food about on his plate more than he was actually eating. _I'll have to have another talk with that boy_, Snape decided, _and soon_.

The meal proceeded without incident, the professors talking quietly amongst themselves while the students carried on as usual at the other tables. Supper eventually disappeared, dessert taking its place shortly afterwards, and Snape leaned forward in his chair to more properly address Stroper.

"I take it that Potter's training session went well?"

Seeming to temporarily forget Snape's earlier slight against him, Stroper turned in his seat and answered, "It went exceptionally well, I must say. The boy shows great promise. I'm looking forward to seeing how far I can take him."

The comment garnished quite a few odd looks from the other Professors, and Stroper smiled and quickly clarified. "In Defense, of course. The boy could go far with the proper amount of training."

"Well," Flitwick announced from his perch atop a small tower of books that were sitting in his seat, allowing the tiny Professor to sit at a more comfortable height, "I certainly hope he did better in Defense today than he did in Charms. His performance in class today was lacking, to say the least."

Snape listened to the ongoing conversation, adding things to his mental list of things to talk to Potter about. Indeed, there was much to be discussed.

oOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOo

"You know, I'm feeling kinda' tired. I think I'm going to head on to bed now."

Harry pushed his plate away from him and rose from his seat, hoping to sneak out early while Snape was engrossed in conversation at the Head Table.

"But Harry, you haven't even gotten any dessert yet!"

Harry looked over to where Ron was, seeing his friend sitting there with an almost affronted-looking expression on his face. Reiterating his earlier excuse, Harry said, "Ron, I'm tired. I don't feel up to dessert right now. I just want to go to bed; I've had a long day."

"But…," Ron spluttered on, trying to talk despite having a bite of one of several pumpkin pasties in his mouth, "But they have treacle tart; your favorite!"

Ron pointed to a full silver platter and Harry could see from the corner of his eye that several students sitting close-by had turned in their seats to watch the commotion. His cheeks tinged from embarrassment, Harry simply said, "I'll see you later, Ron. Bye, Hermione." And then he was gone, desperate to leave before Snape could realize he was sneaking out. With one last glance to the Head Table from over his shoulder, Harry slipped out through one of the large doors and headed for the dungeon.

It wasn't until he reached the large, framed picture of the old man dressed in green who guards the entrance to Snape's rooms that Harry realized he didn't know Snape's password. He stood for several minutes guessing everything he could think of, from names of potion ingredients to different variations along the theme of 'Gryffindors suck', but still was unable to get the entrance to open.

After a few minutes, he could hear the slight tapping sounds of Snape's dragon hide boots as the man neared the corridor where Harry stood, frustrated and anxious. Snape rounded the corner, showing no surprise whatsoever at the fact that Harry was standing there waiting on him instead of being in the Great Hall with the rest of the students. Knowing that he had been caught in his misdeed, Harry paced a couple of steps back and stayed silent, praying that the phrase 'out of sight, out of mind' would offer him even the slightest bit of aid in avoiding his professor's wrath.

Snape stopped in front of the portrait and softly said, "Mala tempora currunt*."

There was a barely audible click, followed by the groan of stone moving against stone as a section of the wall slid to the side to reveal the dark, wooden door to Snape's rooms. Harry quietly followed him in and headed straight for his room, hoping to make it there before he could get reprimanded; however, he stopped in his tracks as Snape began to speak, the professor's back to Harry as the man walked over towards the fireplace to sit in the armchair there.

"Have a seat, Potter."

With a groan born of both irritation and reluctance, Harry trudged over to the armchair opposite Snape's and let his school bag slide from where he had the strap flung over his shoulder. It hit the floor louder than he intended and he cringed slightly, thinking that Snape would yell at him for making noise, but the dark clothed man said nothing to that effect.

Slouching down into the seat, Harry couldn't help but feel momentarily relieved to finally be off his feet. It truly had been a long day for him and his body ached from both the stress and the exercise of navigating through the school despite his body's weakened condition. With a sigh, he let his body relax slightly and sink further into the chair's cushions.

"You left the Great Hall early."

Harry jerked back into wakefulness at the sound of his professor's voice, unaware he had been dozing off a moment before. Harry looked over to where Snape sat regarding him with a critical eye. Harry took a breath to try to come up with some kind of an excuse for his early departure from supper, but before he could utter a word, Snape spoke up again.

"You look dead on your feet, Potter."

Knowing better than trying to deny the obvious, Harry gave a small affirmative nod of his head and tried to cover up the yawn that suddenly tried to escape. Tiredly blinking his eyes, Harry looked up again and saw that Snape was out of his chair and striding over to him, his arm outstretched. Thinking the man was about to hit him, Harry practically leaped from his chair and got behind it, his fingers digging into the fabric on it's back.

Snape had come to an immediate stop, his arm still hovering in the air, and his face belying his exasperation at Harry's behavior.

"Your face is flushed. I was merely checking to see if you are running a fever."

Slowly, Harry relaxed his grip, but he didn't move from his spot behind the chair.

"I'm fine, Sir. I'm just tired."

"I'm sure you think you're fine, Potter, but I would like to ascertain your condition regardless."

He then started forward again, and this time, Harry held his ground, allowing the man to approach and put one of his cold, potion-stained hands against his forehead. As Snape lowered his hand, he said, "You are a little warm, but not enough to be overly concerned about. You know, purposely starving yourself is hardly conductive to a good recovery."

Harry immediately took a couple steps back and stammered out, "I-I'm not starving myself!"

Snape raised an eyebrow, conveying with a single expression exactly how much truth he thought was behind those words as he crossed his arms over his chest.

"You spent more time mutilating your food than you did eating it, Potter."

"I ate enough!" Harry retorted, starting to get angry that Snape was so closely scrutinizing his eating habits.

"Do forgive me if I fail to believe you," Snape snidely bit out, clearly not buying a word the boy was saying. Then, stopping long enough to take a deep breath in an effort to calm his ever-present temper, he continued, "Go sit at the table; I'm having a house elf bring a plate of food, and you _will _be eating it." He then made his way across the room to his own bedroom and disappeared within it, leaving an absolutely fuming Harry Potter still standing in the middle of the room.

A/N: Hooray! I got another chapter done! I had hoped to post this a couple days ago, but as I read over it one last time, I decided to add a little more. I hope you like what I've written so far. I sure do appreciate the amazing response I received from my last chapter and I hope to hear from you all again. So, what do you all think about Stroper's intentions? Friend or Foe? I look forward to hearing what you think! Please Review!!

p.s. You'll find out the meaning of Snape's password in the next chapter, but I'm handing out bonus points to anyone who correctly guesses the meaning to the Latin phrase. Bye!


	14. Nosey Slytherins and Erratic Magic

Disclaimer: I don't own any of the character's except Stroper, dang it!

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Where Do I Go From Here?

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Chap. 14 Nosey Slytherins and Erratic Magic

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Harry sulked miserably that night. After a long supper, most of it spent in silence as Harry struggled to eat enough to satisfy his new guardian, Snape then insisted that they have a 'talk'. _As if you could even call it that_, Harry complained to himself, silently punching his pillow in his frustration. Harry perceived it as more of a lecture.

He was angered that he was forced to sit in that armchair by the fire and listen as his professor spoke to him about 'the importance of taking care of one's self'. _Ha_, Harry thought, _I've been taking care of myself for as far back as I can remember_. _I certainly don't need help now_. Of course, he pointedly ignored the little voice in the back of his head that reminded him of what condition he had been in only a few days prior.

Professor Snape had concluded his enforced speech with a stern note of disapproval regarding Harry's dismal efforts in his classes that day, informing Harry that he had expected better of him. Harry was still having trouble reconciling the slight feeling of guilt he experienced upon hearing that, and he resolutely repeated to himself over and over that he shouldn't care what Snape thinks of him. But no matter how much he tried to deny it to himself, the truth was left staring him in the face, and it sent him into a sour mood.

Punching his pillow yet again, Harry turned on his side as he tried to fall asleep that night, and couldn't help but to wonder to himself, _Why does he even care_?

oOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOo

Harry was woken the next morning by a rapping sound at his door, and the stern voice of his Potions professor informing him, "It's time to get up, Potter."

Harry groaned and pulled the covers over his head in an attempt to block out both the sunlight streaming in his window, and the set of muffled voices he could now detect from the room beyond. Scrubbing a fist tiredly over his eyes, be blearily opened them and forced his body into an upright position, swinging his bare feet over the side of the bed, only to recoil at the first touch of his toes upon the cold stone floor.

Sweeping his arm to the side, he snatched up his glasses which he had left on the top of his trunk the night before and slid them onto his nose. As soon as the world came into focus, he cast his eyes to the floor in a silent search for yesterday's socks he had discarded, and put them on. As soon as his feet were protected against the chill of the dungeon, he dug through his trunk and grabbed a set of clean clothes, determined to get a shower this morning.

He was just about to exit his bedroom when the muffled voices floated through to him again, and he set his face in a scowl when he recognized who was speaking.

oOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOo

"Oh, I'm not worried about that. Besides, the weather is perfect today. What better time will we have to hold Quidditch try-outs?"

Harry could hear a characteristic sigh of exasperation, and could tell Snape must have had made this same point with Draco on several occasions already.

"Draco, I've already told you, Hufflepuff has already requested the field for today. I'm not going to overrule Professor Sprout on this without a valid reason."

"But, it'll be raining again by tomorrow, and-"

"Regardless," Snape interrupted, "I cannot do it. Slytherin will have to keep their try-outs scheduled for tomorrow evening as planned. Besides, it is much too late to change your plans now, Draco, so just drop it."

Harry couldn't help but snigger a little to himself over the fact that Draco Malfoy did not get his way for once, and with that, he finally opened his door and strode into the room.

Draco was quick to divert his attention over to Harry as the teen crossed the floor on his way to the bathroom, and Harry picked up his pace, suddenly uncomfortable under the scrutiny. After the door was safely closed behind him, he set about his task as quickly as possible, determined to not give Snape a reason to scold him again, especially in front of Draco.

oOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOo

After hearing the bathroom door click shut, Draco turned back to his godfather, "So, he's still here, is he?"

Snape raised an eyebrow at Draco at the obvious stupidity of the question, but answered nonetheless, "I have a feeling that his stay will equal that of yours in duration."

Draco raised an eyebrow as well, a trait picked up by habit from Snape himself, and the young Slytherin shrewdly derived the hidden message in that statement.

"That bad?" Draco paused to cast a look over his shoulder one last time, as if he could see Harry through the closed bathroom door. When he turned to face Snape again, he had a contemplative look on his face that made his Godfather immediately suspicious.

"I certainly hope, Draco, that you are not scheming up some sort of mischief that will involve Mister Potter." Snape cast a stern look over at his godson who at least had to good grace to fane innocence.

"Nothing of the sort, Sev. Not yet anyways."

Snape sent a warning glare Draco's way, but the boy simply ignored it and flashed a cocky grin of his own, knowing just how much he was able to get away with compared to other students. Having his God Father as his Head of House certainly had its advantages.

oOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOo

Harry could hear them talking from the other room, but the rush of water from the shower head seemed to drown out the conversation enough that he couldn't tell what either of them were saying. All he did know was that he had distinctly heard his name being used, and it angered him to think the two Slytherins were out there talking about him.

In his frustration, he unintentionally scrubbed harder than he meant to, only stopping when he noticed how red and sore his skin had gotten. Sighing loudly and hoping the slight pain he was now in was not enough to alert Snape, Harry stepped back under the spray just long enough to rinse away the soap before bending down to turn off the water.

But just as he was stepping out of the shower, a wave of dizziness seemed to strike him out of nowhere, forcing him to grab at the wall to keep himself from falling. Harry let himself slump against it, panting and feeling as if he had just run a race. Worried that Snape might come looking for him if he took too long, Harry struggled to get dressed as the dizziness began to lessen.

By the time he was ready to make his way back into the main living quarters, most of the dizziness had passed, only to be replaced by a sudden weakness in his muscles that left his hands shaking, despite his best efforts to hide it. Shoving his hands deep into his pockets, he made his way toward the table where Snape and Draco sat waiting.

As Harry neared the table, Snape glanced up, but when his eyes narrowed a moment later, Harry knew all hope of hiding the incident was lost. Snape stood from the table to make his way over to inspect his charge, catching Draco's attention. A moment later, and the blond was twisted around in his seat so that he could watch the interaction.

"What happened?" Snape inquired.

Harry was taken aback at first. He had thought the man would be mad at him for some reason, but Snape almost sounded worried.

"Nothing," Harry briefly replied, "I'm fine."

"You are clammy and pale. You are most certainly not 'fine'." Snape did seem a little angry this time and Harry bit his lower lip in an effort to refrain from saying anything else that might anger the man.

"Sit." Snape pointed to the loveseat before heading towards the small wooden cabinet in the corner. Quietly complying, Harry watched from over his shoulder as Snape whipped out his wand from within his sleeve, unlocked the cabinet, snatched up a few potions, and then relocked it, all within seconds.

As the man's foreboding presence neared, Harry cast his eyes one last time to the young Slytherin watching him from the table. Disgusted by the fact that he now had an audience to his little humiliation, Harry snarled his upper lip at Draco, hoping it looked at least half as good as one of Snape's trademark snarls. But Draco's reaction was far from what Harry had hoped it would be.

The blond seemed to be trying to hold back a laugh. Righting himself in his seat, more to hide his grin than to offer Harry any privacy, Draco remarked as if merely commenting on the weather, "You know, Potter, I think you've been hanging around Professor Snape too long. I do believe he's starting to rub off on you."

Snape stopped dead in his tracks, glanced at Harry, and then cast his most deadly of glares at Draco, but before he could whip out a single retort, the boy had already gathered up his schoolbag, grabbed a piece of buttered toast and was on his way out the door.

As soon as the door clicked shut, Snape turned to Harry. And when he spoke, his harsh voice still carried evidence of some of the irritation Draco's comment had borne.

"Hold out your hand."

The first thing that came to Harry's mind was that Snape thought he had cut again, and he withdrew his arm when Snape started to reach for it.

"But I didn't-"

Snape's hand froze in mid-air, and a moment later he responded with an obvious forced calmness, "I need to check your pulse, Harry."

And there it was again. The man had called him by his first name and, somehow, Harry couldn't help but relax a little when he heard it, as if it was some type of involuntary reaction on his part. Perhaps, it was because the word seemed to be so out of place, but the man had said it before. Harry could remember that, even if he _had_ been upset at the time. Well, if Snape could be civil, than so could Harry.

Apprehensively, Harry stretched his arm out to his Potions Professor, but instead of grabbing hold of his wrist like Harry half expected him to do, Snape merely placed two cold fingers against Harry's wrist. As the seconds went by, Harry couldn't seem to make himself look at Snape. The morning had held enough embarrassments for him, he didn't think he could stand it if he were to look up and see his professor looking back with any amount of distain.

A moment later, and the fingers left his wrist. Placing his hand in his lap, Harry proceeded to rub at the chilled spot on his wrist while Snape gave him a considering look.

"Your pulse is racing. Have you been feeling lightheaded?"

Harry didn't want to tell him about the dizzy spell. The last thing he wanted was even more attention from the man. It was bad enough that he was watched at every meal, and that Snape had obviously been asking the other Professors about how his classes went. What would come next? On the other hand, he didn't want to lie to Snape either. After all, the man was trying to help, in his own snarky way.

Harry remained silent as he thought out what he wanted his response to be, but his thoughts were interrupted when Snape finally got tired of waiting for an answer.

"I'll take that as a 'yes'. What were you doing when it happened?"

_Oh well_, Harry thought, _in for a penny,_ _in for a pound_.

"I had just gotten out of the shower, Sir."

Snape was silent for a second and then instructed, "I want you to eat breakfast, and see if that helps with the shaking."

Harry looked down, and sure enough, his hands were still trembling slightly. He shoved them back into his pockets for the short trip to the table, not caring if he looked a little silly doing so. As he sat down, Snape placed several potions on the table right in front of Harry's plate. There was the usual stomach soothing and nutrient potion, but there was a third one as well. Harry picked it up and tilted the small vial from side to side, watching as the frothy purple liquid sloshed inside it.

"It should help with the dizziness." Snape answered before the question could be asked. "But it is better to take it on a full stomach, so wait until after breakfast before you take it."

Harry nodded and set it back down. He quickly took the other two, smiling at the minty taste of one and then frowning at the bitterness of the second. The first thing Harry served himself that morning was a full glass of the pumpkin juice to wash away the flavor of the nutrient potion. He then served himself from the platters that the house elves had brought earlier.

A while later, when Harry was just about to eat his last bite of toast and was already starting to rise from his chair, Snape commented, "You still aren't eating enough."

With a huff of irritation, Harry let himself plop back into his chair, and rested his head on his arm which he had propped up on the edge of the table.

"But I can't eat any more than that," Harry complained. "I'm full."

"Actually," Snape explained, "I was referring to that in a general sense, not just in regards to your current meal."

When Harry continued to look questioningly at him, Snape elaborated further.

"I believe that the bout of dizziness you experienced this morning was due to a sudden drop in your sugar level, which in turn is most likely due to a lack of nourishment. What I have yet to figure out is why. You have been on nutrient potions in combination to your normal meals for several days, which is long enough by now that you should not be experiencing these symptoms. In the very beginning, perhaps you would have, but not now."

All Harry could think about was how he had thrown up the day before, and he figured that had to have something to do with it. But surely it was nothing to be overly concerned about; it was probably just some kind of stomach bug that's been going around. Besides, he felt fine, other than the sensation of having eaten too much that morning. Deciding to remain silent, he only had to wait a few moments until Snape finally dismissed him from the table.

Snatching up his bag, Harry was in a hurry to get to Transfiguration, but he didn't get two steps from the table when Snape reminded him to take the third potion that was still sitting next to his plate, right where he left it. With a grimace, Harry chugged it down quickly, then finished off the remains of his pumpkin juice to wash it all down. As he started to dash out the door, he paused for just a moment in the doorway, thought about it for a second, and then looked over his shoulder to mutter a quick "Bye" to the man who'd been helping him so much the last few days, and he was just as quickly gone the next second.

Snape couldn't help but to stare in disbelief at the closed door. _Had the boy actually said 'bye'? What was the world coming to if 'the walking epitome of all things Gryffindor' had suddenly decided to be cordial to a Slytherin? And not just any Slytherin, but the actual Head of House? _

Standing from his chair moments later and shaking his head in incredulity, Snape made his way over to his desk to prepare for that day's classes.

oOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOo

Harry had gone but a few corridors from Snape's quarters when he felt his stomach suddenly lurch. Pausing in his hurried steps, Harry couldn't help the groan that escaped him when a horrible cramping made him double over. Dropping his bag to the floor, Harry threw a hand onto the wall closest to him in an effort to keep himself upright, while the other hand was busy hugging his belly. Knowing what to expect from his experiences the day before, Harry swiftly deliberated on which bathroom he could reach the fastest. Settling on the one he knew was just a few corridors away, he hurried in that direction, forgetting all about his school bag in his haste, and not caring that the lavatory he choose was the one located near the entrance to the Slytherin common room.

By the time he reached it, he had his hand firmly clamped over his mouth and he spared but a moment to make sure the hall was clear of any students that might be milling about before he rushed inside. Unfortunately, his body expelled his breakfast before he could reach a stall, and he found himself on his hands and knees choking up sour spittle.

As he sat back on his heels, panting from the physical exertion of what had just happened, he couldn't help but to feel a little concerned about the situation. Yeah, he had thrown up many times before, but surely this wasn't normal…feeling fine one moment, and then on his knees the next. Perhaps he should tell Snape about it. _No_, Harry scolded himself,_ don't waste his time. This is nothing new, you've thrown up before, and you certainly don't need his help. Besides, if he found out, he'll watch you even more closely, and that's the last thing you want. Then he'll think you're a freak, just like your relatives do._

"I'm not a freak," Harry whispered to himself. He said it once more before he finally opened his eyes, not realizing when he had shut them in the first place. Stumbling over to the closest sink, Harry splashed water onto his face and then studied his reflection in the mirror above it. Noticing how pale he was and not wanting to alert anyone that anything was amiss, he slapped his cheeks a few times, making them tinge with color. Once satisfied that he looked more normal, he cast a cleaning charm over the floor, looked over his shoulder one more time out of habit, and hastily exited the lavatory to find where he had dropped his bag, determined to make it to Transfiguration on time.

Seconds after the door closed behind him, a solitary figure emerged from the stall in the corner. The young man paused for several seconds as he stared into the room, as if he was witnessing the very events he had just overheard moments before. With a slightly troubled look, he made his way to the door, stopping just long enough to smooth down his blond hair before making his way to class.

oOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOo

All in all, classes went horribly for Harry that day. Where he performed poorly the day before, he failed at miserably today. Every class required some sort of spellwork, all but Herbology that is, and in every instance, Harry just was not able to get his magic to produce any results. Most of the time, his wand would just give a short whizzle of golden sparks shooting out its end before ceasing to work at all. In Transfiguration, he had at least been able to get the stone that they were supposed to be turning into a bird to grow a few feathers, but after that, nothing seemed to work.

He wouldn't have minded asking Hermione for advice, but after a lunch full of her and Ron's prodding in their attempt to make him eat more, he really didn't feel like talking to either of them unless he absolutely had to. After lunch, while in Divination, he pulled his wand from his bag, determined to prove to himself that he could make it work.

He hid it under the edge of the table he sat at, and while Professor Trelawney yammered on and on about Fortune-Telling Talismans, Harry tried over and over to perform the _Lumos_ spell. After five tries and without so much as producing a single flicker of light, he cursed under his breath and shook his wand in anger, nearly upsetting the crystal ball that was perched atop his table. After noticing the strange looks he was receiving from his classmates, Harry shoved the wand into his schoolbag, uncaring at this point if it were to get damaged in the process.

By the time class was over, Harry had grown so frustrated by the situation, that he didn't even wait around to say good-bye to Ron before rushing back down to Snape's quarters, hoping he would get a little time alone in order to cool himself off a bit.

When he got to the portrait of the "old man in green" as he had taken to calling it lately, he tried several times to repeat the password he had heard Snape use the day before, but to no avail. Apparently, he was saying it wrong. _Of course_, Harry sarcastically criticized himself, _it's the perfect ending to a perfect day._ He kicked at the door in frustration, but then jumped in alarm when a voice spoke up from behind him.

"He really hates it when people do that you know. It's not his fault you don't know the password."

Harry looked angrily back over his shoulder as Draco Malfoy stepped calmly up to the door and spoke the words Harry had previously attempted to.

"Mala tempora currunt"

The old man in the portrait appeared to be relieved that the correct password was finally given, and the wall seemed to slide away much faster than it had for Snape the previous evening. The Slytherin opened the door and stepped over the threshold, and just when Harry expected to have the door slammed in his face, Draco stepped to the side and asked,

"Well, are you coming in or not? I don't plan to stand here all day."

Harry bustled in, heading straight for his room, thinking of nothing more than of how nice it would be to finally be alone, but Draco called him back before he even got halfway there.

With a sigh of undisguised annoyance, Harry demanded, "What do you want now, Malfoy?"

"I don't _want_ anything," he replied, "I just have something I need to tell you."

"Then get to the point," Harry directed, crossing his arms impatiently.

"I know what happened this morning, and I think you should tell Severus."

"What?" Harry tried to play dumb to buy himself some time. "What are you talking about?" Surely Malfoy wasn't talking about the episode of vomiting in the bathroom, was he? Maybe he was referring to Harry's poor performance in class. Yes, that must be it.

"You know what I'm talking about, Potter. You need to tell him what happened in the lavatory this morning."

_Well,_ Harry thought to himself, _there's that theory shot to Hell_.

"Look, Malfoy, I don't know what you're talking about. I went straight to class after I left here this morning."

"Give it a rest, Potter," Draco started to get angry at Harry's constant denial, "You and I both know it happened. I was in the last stall and was about to leave when you came bursting in like you had Hellhounds on your heels and then proceeded to spew all over the floor."

"Is that so?" After the long frustrations of the day, Harry had just about had it, and he lost the slight hold he had on his temper. "I guess you thought it would be funny to just sit back and enjoy the show then did you? Well then, did you have fun spying on me? Do you finally have something you can go tell your friends about?!"

"Gods, no!" Draco retorted, absolutely affronted by the insinuation. "I didn't want to be there at all! But I was, and I'm telling you that you need to let Severus know what happened."

"Why the fuck should I, huh? And why the hell do you even care?" Harry demanded. "And quit calling him Severus in front of me, alright? He's your Godfather, not mine. To me he'll always be mean, old Professor Snape, the Git."

Now, Draco was furious with him. "Look, Potter, you need to tell him because it's his job to watch over you now that you're living in his quarters, and how well he does his job reflects on us Slytherins since he is our Head of House. And I never said I cared; I just don't fancy walking in here one day and finding your dead body lying on the floor!"

By the time Draco was done with his tirade, he had closed some of the distance between Harry and himself and was now staring irritably at him, his fists clenched angrily at his sides. It was at this point that Harry started feeling a niggle of what felt like guilt starting to gnaw at him.

_Maybe the vomiting is more serious than I thought it was if Malfoy is this upset. _

No longer sure of how he should handle the situation, Harry resolutely pushed the guilty feeling away and decided that the best course of action would be to get some time to himself to think. Seeing the anger still in Draco's eyes, Harry mumbled out a quiet, "Sorry," before fleeing to his room.

As the door clicked shut behind him, Harry pushed his face into his hands, wishing for the first time to be back at the Dursleys. Yes, it was horrible there, but at least he always knew what to expect. Plus, he would have been able to cut all he wanted to without anyone stopping him. Here, however, he had to deal with a nosey and ill-tempered Professor, erratic magic, and friends and enemies alike, watching him all the time. And to top it all off, he was being forced to take extra lessons with the creepy new DADA Professor, against his will. It was downright frustrating, and he had no idea how to deal with it all.

Leaning himself against the wall next to his door, Harry slid slowly down to the floor, his hands now raking through his hair as his thoughts raced. But the more he thought about the situation, the angrier he became. Before he had even realized what he had done, he had punched the wall, hard. He slowly became aware of what had happened as the throbbing of his hand pushed the thoughts out of his head, making him feel clear-minded for the first time in days.

He held the hand in front of himself for mere moments, watching the spots of blood pool upon the torn skin of his knuckles before giving into his impulses. With a dull '_thud'_ from the impact, he punched the wall again; this time, very much on purpose. Taking a deep breath of relief as the pain washed over him again, harsh and raw, he couldn't help himself but to do it again and again until the actions changed, somewhere along the way, into something beyond his control. Suddenly, he found himself taking all his anger, frustration, sadness, and a host of other feelings he couldn't even identify, and channeling them all into this one act.

Harry could hear someone sobbing over the noise of his now bloodied fist hitting the wall, and it took him several moments before he realized that he was his own voice he heard. He allowed himself to hit the wall one last time before crumpling the rest of the way to the floor in a heap, his emotions beyond his control by this point. As he rested the heated skin of his cheek against the cold stone floor, he wished for more than anything else for it all to come to an end.

A/N: Hi to all my faithful readers out there! You _are_ still out there aren't you?

I am so sorry it took so long to update my story…Okay, okay, it pretty much took a whole year, but better late than never, right?

Anyways, life has been super hectic this past year. I've moved three times, spend all of last summer renovating a 5000 square foot Victorian home (plumbing, electric, the works), and I spent 5 months caring for my mother after a serious illness almost killed her. Now, I am home and have some semblance of order in my life once more. Therefore, I hope to never leave this story for so long again. My most sincere apologies to you all for making you wait such an incredibly long time.

Lastly, I would love to hear from those of you out there who have not given up on me. Please let me know if you are all still interested in this fic. I look forward to hearing from you. Thanks to you all!


	15. Breakdown or Breakthrough

Disclaimer: I don't own any of the character's except Stroper, dang it!

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Where Do I Go From Here?

….

Chap. 15 Breakdown or Breakthrough

….

Draco had just started towards the table that sat against the far wall in Snape's quarters, still somewhat irritated from the recent confrontation, when he first heard it. And again, a few seconds later. It was a dull thudding noise, and it seemed to be coming from Potter's room. At first, he tried to ignore the muffled pounding, but it quickly drew his full attention when it was accompanied by a wail of agony that seemed to carry itself throughout the room before dissolving into deep, painful sounding sobs.

Alarmed, Draco dropped his school bag directly onto the floor and paced over to Harry's door, but hesitated as he reached for the doorknob. Not sure whether he wanted to get that involved in whatever was going on behind that door, Draco debated with himself for mere seconds before finally just taking a deep breath and twisting the knob, allowing the door to swing open with a small push.

Seeing the other boy laying on the floor as he was, shocked Draco upon first sight of him and the blond nearly stumbled back in surprise. Catching himself in time before he bumped into the doorway, Draco took another deep breath and spoke up.

"Potter?"

When that failed to get any response from the other teen, Draco tried again, not even realizing it when he called him by his first name.

"Harry, are you alright? Do you need Severus?"

Still, Harry remained unresponsive to Draco's queries. He continued to lie where he had fallen, crying loudly into one of the tear-sodden sleeves of his school robe, his face hidden from Draco's view by the way he had wrapped his arms about his head. Seeing the spots of blood on the wall, Draco searched out the source of it and his eyes widened when they fell upon Harry's hand.

Truly worried now, Draco decided that the best course of action would be to get some help. Before leaving Snape's quarters, Draco stayed long enough to tell the other teen, "I'll be right back. I'm going to find Severus."

Whether Harry heard him or not, Draco didn't know, for Harry still did not acknowledge him. Pausing not a moment more, Draco rushed out the main entrance and into the corridor beyond, determined to find Professor Snape as quickly as he could. Never before had Draco felt as unnerved as he did now, being witness to such a display of raw pain. With a shiver that had nothing to due with the chill of the dungeons, Draco turned the corner and headed straight for his Godfather's classroom.

oOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOo

Professor Snape was gathering the last few rolled parchments from the desk in his Potions classroom, intending to grade the essays in his quarters that evening, when he heard the echoing sound of footsteps hurrying down the corridor, coming increasingly closer with every second that ticked by. His first thought was that it was some First Year student in a rush to get to somewhere, most likely the Great Hall since it was nearly time for the evening meal. He still had a few newly sorted Slytherins that had to be occasionally reminded about showing the decorum that a member of the House of Slytherin should show at all times.

With a sigh, he waited for the errant student to pass so he could dole out the proper admonishment, but to his surprise, he saw Draco come skidding to a halt, nearly passing right by the door in his haste. Draco had yet to speak, but Severus knew instantly that something was wrong from the look on Draco's face.

"What has happened, Draco?"

Still panting, Draco tried to explain as best he could between hastily drawn breaths of air. "Harry's in his room…I heard a thumping noise and crying…I checked on him…He was on the floor…I saw blood on the wall and on his hand."

Severus quickly dropped the scrolls in an untidy pile onto his desk, not caring when several fell off, scattering across the floor, some even rolling underneath the desk and out of sight. Leaving the parchments there, he paced over to where Draco was standing, still slightly bent forward, trying to catch his breath. Grabbing the boy by his elbow, Severus guided him through a side door located near the back of the classroom which led into his office.

As he grabbed an old, battered looking black jar off the mantle of the fireplace in his office and reached inside to pull out a handful of Floo powder, Severus couldn't help but to silently curse the shortcomings in the monitoring spell he had used on Harry that first day he had come to his quarters. The spell itself was highly sensitive, letting the caster know immediately if the subject came to any physical harm. Its only limitation was distance. Unfortunately, the spell would not work properly unless both the caster and the subject are within a certain proximity to each other.

At the time he had cast that particular spell, Severus knew that it would be a rarity for the child to be in his quarters when he, himself, was not. _Of course_, Severus thought, _it is Potter, after all. Trust him to find a way around all the safeguards I put in place._

Assuming Harry had cut himself again, Severus instructed Draco to gather a few specific potions from the private stores kept in the back of his office, and to Floo in after he had gathered them all. Then, he threw in the powder he still had cupped in has hand and Floo-ed into his quarters.

As soon as he stepped out of the fireplace, the monitoring spell sent a flare of phantom pain into his hand and he could hear the agonized sobbing coming from Harry's room. With swift steps, he made his way over to the partially closed door and cautiously swung it fully open, not sure what he would find. As the door revealed more of the room, the blood splattered wall immediately took his full attention. Most of it had dried by now, except for a few places where it had been thicker and had actually left small red trails behind as gravity carried a few drops of blood towards the floor where they joined the drops already there, leading over to where Harry still lay.

With one deft wand movement, the wall and floor were clean again, and Severus made his way further into the room. He stooped down to the floor, getting a closer look at Harry's bloody hand as he did so, and then spoke in as soft, calm voice.

"Harry."

But as before, when Draco had addressed him, Harry remained unresponsive; even when Severus tried a further two times to gain his attention. Seeing nothing else for it, he reached out to scoop the child off the floor, but as soon as he started to lift Harry's slight weight up, the boy twisted around and clutched at the front of Severus' robes, burying his face into the soft folds of fabric, either not knowing or not caring who this person was, just urgently needing some form of comfort.

Momentarily taken aback, Severus froze, but a second later he repositioned his arms and then lifted Harry up and made his way over to the child's bed. He laid him down, but as he tried to stand back up, Harry clung even tighter to the fistful of fabric he had in his uninjured hand, refusing to allow Severus to move away from his side.

With a soft sigh, Severus sat on the bed and allowed the teen to cry. He knew it had to happen at some point, this breakdown he was bearing witness to. Severus had known there would eventually have to be some outlet for the boy's feelings; especially with the way Harry kept everything bottled up, refusing to deal with his emotions in a healthy manner. Even so, it still felt awkward to be the one the child was clinging so desperately to now.

Placing his arm around the frail shoulders that continued to heave with every sobbing breath the boy took, he patted him on the back in what he considered to be a comforting gesture, hoping he was handling the situation correctly since was not used to showing any emotion in a physical way, especially empathy. Yes, students had come to him for advice; yes, he has had to calm a child every so often, but never in this form, never through physical action rather than words, and he felt at a loss as to what to do other than to let Harry decide what to do next.

The rustling sound at Harry's door indicated that Draco had finally returned, and Severus pivoted around as far as he could in order to address the teen. Speaking in a soft voice in an effort to keep Harry from noticing that the other boy was in the room, he said, "Leave them on the top of his trunk."

Without uttering any kind of reply, Draco swiftly and quietly did as he was told, eager to remove himself from the room. Setting the sealed potion vials down, he spared one last glance at the pair from over his shoulder before making his retreat.

Alone once again, Severus tried to lean Harry's face away from his robes long enough to get a Calming potion into him, but Harry refused to cooperate. Remembering that Harry's defenses were usually down whenever he became overly distraught, Severus decided that now was as good a time as any to try to get the teen to talk to him about some of the things that were troubling him. Speaking softly, he began to question him.

"Harry, can you tell me how you're feeling right now."

He knew the boy had heard him because there was a momentary pause in the child's breathing and the crying died down some, but after several seconds without a reply, he had just started to take in a breath to ask again when a soft, tremulous voice answered, and he caught himself leaning in ever so slightly to properly hear it.

"I don't know."

Pulling away slightly, he decided he would need to guide the conversation in the right direction. Glancing again at the bloody hand, Severus asked, "Are you sad, scared, or perhaps angry? Maybe lonely…or frustrated?" He paused, and was about to suggest a few other things, but Harry's soft voice broke through.

"Yes."

Confused, Severus tried to get him to clarify his answer. "Yes? Can you tell me which-"

He was cut off from saying further when Harry replied, "All of it. I feel all of it." He clutched tighter to Severus' robe front now and began crying again, the short reprieve seemingly broken by his confession.

This time, Severus did not have to question further for answers. It was as if acknowledging the way he felt had allowed an internal flood gate to open, and Harry's voice broke through his sobs in broken sentences that were difficult to understand with the overwhelming emotions he was experiencing and the occasional sob that he couldn't suppress.

"They did it…the Dursleys…I tried so hard…but they hate me…everyone will know…they'll all hate me…"

Harry couldn't seem to control himself any longer. Years' worth of suppressed emotions pushed their way out of him as he cried all over his Potions professor, practically in the man's lap. But Harry didn't care; it was as if, now that he got started, he just couldn't seem to make himself stop. And even as upset as he was, the more he said, the better he felt. He pushed on, not wanting to stop until he had let it all out.

"…everyone expects me to be something I'm not…always pushing, pushing, pushing…don't know what to do…I want it to end…please…make it end."

No longer able to control his crying any longer, Harry gave up attempting to say any more, and allowed himself to just be held. And he didn't care that it was his Potions professor he was holding onto, his arms now around the man's neck, and he didn't care that Draco was in the other room and could probably hear every word he said. All he knew was that it felt amazingly freeing to put some the burdens of his emotions onto someone else, a someone else who actually seemed to care; for what other reason would he allow Harry to cling to him as he was; why else would he have even bothered to ask him something no other adult had ever cared to know, or to sit there silently as Harry cried, never once trying to tell him he had to be brave, or strong, or mature, just allowing him to be.

Finally calming, Harry slid his arms into his lap, wincing slightly as his injured left hand brushed against the fabric of Severus' high collared robes. Catching the action, Severus gently grasped the wrist before Harry could pull if further from his reach, and with a voice he intentionally made as soft as he could to keep things calm now that the commotion had died down, he said, "I need to check your hand, Harry. I need to make sure you didn't break anything."

Harry silently nodded to show his understanding and he turned his head away as Severus pulled out his wand. He felt the man prod the flesh around his knuckles a couple of times before a warming sensation swept over his skin and he turned back around in time to see the torn flesh close around his still swollen knuckles.

Reaching over to the trunk, Severus grabbed the small jar of healing balm that Draco had brought in earlier and proceeded to smooth a glob of the orange colored paste over the swollen spots. With a sigh, Harry could feel the throbbing lessen, and he turned away again as his hand was released from the Potion Master's grip.

Harry could hear the clink of the small vials as they rolled against each other as Severus sat the balm back on the trunk, but a moment later, the man got his attention, and when Harry turned back to face him once more, he saw several of the vials being held out to him. Knowing what Severus wanted of him, Harry took the vials without having to be asked and swallowed the contents of each without question.

Severus was slightly unnerved by this new complacency that Harry seemed to be under, but decided not to question it. He retrieved each vial as it was emptied and sat them back on the trunk. He didn't have to wait long for the final potion to take affect, and Harry fell asleep still leaning somewhat on his professor.

Shifting the child's weight over to the center of the bed, Severus stood up with a weary sigh and paused for a second before stooping over the sleeping form and removing Harry's shoes, which he placed on the floor at the foot of Harry's bed. Looking across the bed, and then the floor, Severus located the glasses that had apparently fallen off Harry's face earlier that evening. Those, too, were picked up and then deposited on the top of the trunk. The last thing he did before leaving was to pull the covers over the boy and then dim the lights.

As he left the newly darkened room, his mind was heavy with thoughts of all the things Harry had revealed to him that evening. It was the breakthrough Severus had hoped for, but certainly not in the way he had wished for it to happen. Yes, there would be much to talk to the boy about the following day. Thank Merlin tomorrow was Saturday! Severus shut the door as he left, and then he went in search of Draco. He knew his Godson well enough to know that he would likely be upset by the events of the evening, and the last thing he wanted was for Draco to relapse into cutting again.

Severus finally found Draco curled up on the loveseat, a book perched open on his lap, but he seemed to be solely focused on the crackling embers in the fireplace with a faraway look in his eyes.

"Draco."

The boy jumped a little when he was startled out of his thoughts by the sudden noise.

"Oh, Severus,…is he…uh, is he alright?" Draco felt out of place inquiring about Harry Potter's well being, but what he had seen, and especially what he had heard, greatly affected his view of the Boy-Who-Lived. He wasn't sure he would be able to look at the other boy ever again without remembering it all. He had been so sure that Potter had grown up surrounded by adoring fans that would cater to his every whim. Not like Draco, himself, who, despite popular belief, was very much ignored by his parents and had seldom seen affection. He had never known that the two of them had anything in common; and it altered his entire opinion of Harry.

"He'll be fine…" Severus answered, "Eventually. As you know first-hand, these sorts of things take a lot of time to work through."

Draco's mind was filled with questions about all he had overheard, but he knew his Godfather would be reluctant to tell him all he wanted to know in an effort to protect Harry's privacy, so he tried to ask questions he thought the man would be more willing to answer.

"What had he done to his hand earlier? I saw the blood on him and the wall. Did he cut himself?"

Severus looked long and hard at Draco trying to determine the best answer to give before deciding to stick to the truth since the teen had been witness to parts of Harry's breakdown firsthand.

"I am assuming he took his aggressions out on the wall. His hand was quite a mess, but it was nothing that couldn't be quickly fixed with the right potion and a simple healing spell."

"Oh." Draco sat his book aside, no longer trying to keep up the pretense that he'd been reading. "I heard some of what he said. I heard him say 'They did it'; what was he talking about? What did 'they' do?"

"Perhaps, Draco," Severus laid his hand upon the young man's shoulder, "that is something you should ask Harry yourself."

Draco's gaze dropped down to stare at his own tightly clenched hands as his Godfather retreated to the small table where they usually took their meals when not eating in the Great Hall. Summoning a house elf, Severus requested a meal to be sent up as he waited for Draco to make his way over. When he noticed the child still ensconced in his spot on the settee, he called to him.

"Come Draco, it's been a long evening, and we could both do with a hot meal and a good night's rest."

oOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOo

Dinner that night was a sullen affair. Draco wasn't really in the mood to talk much, not that Severus could blame him after the events that took place earlier. The meal was done with quickly, neither of them having much of an appetite, but as Draco stood to leave, he seemed to pause with a look of internal conflict on his face before sitting down again just as quickly. Severus raised an eyebrow in question, and Draco seemed to take that as the incentive he needed to ask the question he had been brooding over for the last twenty minutes.

"May I stay the night?"

Honestly, Severus couldn't say he was surprised by the request. Often as a child, Draco would seek him out whenever Severus happened to stop by the Manor, especially when he was upset over one thing or another. The boy seemed to crave closeness with a caring adult during times of stress. Merlin knew the child couldn't turn to his own parents. For as many things that money can buy, it can't buy happiness; which was something sorely lacking in that household.

By way of an answer to Draco's question, Severus unsheathed his wand and proceeded to transfigure the loveseat into a cot, its blankets and pillow keeping the same pattern as the loveseat's upholstery.

Later that night, after Draco settled himself on the cot, Severus decided to head to bed as well, stopping to dim the lights on the way out. Stopping in the doorway of the short hallway leading to his room, Severus stared at the boy for several long minutes before silently casting a monitoring spell over Draco as well. Satisfied that he was doing his best in the current situation, Severus finally went to bed to get some much needed rest.

oOoOoOoooOoOoOoOo

The flames in the fireplace had long since died down by the time Draco was roused from his sleep. Blearily blinking his eyes in the dim light, he scooped up his wand from the nearby end-table and cast _Tempus._ With a groan, Draco flopped back down on his pillow. What in Merlin's name had woken him at 4 a.m.?

Then he heard it again; a muffled moan of pain. His brows furrowed in both curiosity and apprehension, he slipped from his bed and started towards the source of the noise. Pausing halfway across the sitting room, he briefly considered getting Severus up to deal with it, but knowing he wouldn't be able to fall back asleep anyways, he continued on, his curiosity getting the better of him.

As Draco stepped into Harry's room, the muffled sounds became slightly clearer, and his eyes widened as he made out some of what the other boy was mumbling in his sleep.

"Stop," Harry's words slurred out, distorted in his sleep as he started to lightly thrash on the bed. "Please." The blankets were kicked off as Harry's movements increased in intensity. "I didn't do it, I swear."

By this point, Draco was well and truly shocked by what he was witnessing. In an effort to bring an end the other boy's nightmare, Draco stepped forward and hesitantly shook Harry's shoulder.

As if prompted by the contact, Harry lashed out with a yelp of fright, his fist catching Draco in the stomach. He woke immediately afterwards, casting his eyes wildly about the room before backing into the furthest corner of his bed, still somewhat lost in the nightmare he had just been caught up in. Seconds later, Severus rushed in with a hand over his stomach, having been alerted by the monitoring spell. Seeing Draco still bent over from the blow, and Harry shaking against the wall, Severus was quick to piece together what had happened.

Severus checked on Draco first, but the blond was swift to right himself in an attempt to save face, assuring his Head of House that he wasn't hurt too badly. By the time Severus was heading to Harry's bed, the boy seemed to have finally fully awakened and was staring wide-eyed at Draco.

"I didn't mean to…" Harry's words tumbled out in a rush of panic, fearing he would be in trouble for hitting Draco in such a manner. "I-I didn't know it was him…"

"Calm down," Severus' level voice directed him. "Draco is perfectly fine."

At this, Severus threw a look over his shoulder at the blond, and Draco was quick to reiterate what his Godfather had said.

"See, I'm fine." He even held his arms out away from his sides as if showing bodily proof of his statement.

Harry didn't even see the other boy's motions. He just nodded his head, his downcast eyes never straying from his hands he now had folded in his lap, and quietly replied, "Alright. Good."

"Harry," Severus interrupted Harry's thoughts to ask, "Will you tell me what the nightmare was about?"

And although that was the last thing Harry wanted to talk about, he decided he would try nevertheless. He felt like he owed the man something for helping him as much as he had. Harry gave a nod of his head and pulled his covers more tightly around his body as if to shield himself from the memory. With a sigh, he accepted his glasses from his professor's outstretched hand and placed them on his face.

As the room came into focus, Harry saw that Draco was still standing behind Severus, towards the back of the room. He stared at the blond nervously for several seconds, suddenly embarrassed at the thought that the other boy was bearing witness to these private moments. Catching the silent exchange, Severus looked over his shoulder and gave a nod in the young Slytherin's direction. Without a word, Draco left, pulling the door closed behind him as he went. With a relieved sigh, Harry settled back against his pillow and contemplated the Severus' previous request. Scrubbing a hand through his hair, Harry wondered where to begin.

"I…," Harry nervously cleared his throat and tried again. "I was back at my uncle's house…."

oOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOo

By the time Harry was done explaining the contents of his dream, he had to admit, even if only to himself, he did feel a little better. He was surprised that he had been able to share all of that with his professor. But what would the man think of him? The last thing he wanted was to give Snape any further reason to see him as weak. With this thought in mind, he cautiously brought his eyes up from where he had been keeping them focused on his hands and he looked up to see his professor's expression.

Harry was prepared to see a look of distain across Snape's features, but what he did not expect was the look of…understanding? Surely not, Harry decided, and he ducked his head down into the pillow and brought the covers up to partially hide his face from the contemplative look he was now receiving. Not sure of what else to do, Harry lay quietly and waited to see what Snape would do.

Harry could hear the man sigh before feeling the bed shift as Snape rose from where he had been seated on its edge. For a second or two there was silence, and although Harry wasn't looking in Severus' direction, he could tell that the man was staring at him. Slightly unnerved now, Harry drew the covers up even further and waited for some kind of disparaging comment to be made. But none came, and he pulled his blanket down just enough so that he could peer out into the room.

As soon as Severus made eye contact, it seemed to spur the man into motion, and he turned to leave the room. _Oh, great_, Harry thought sarcastically, _he thinks I'm a total freak now. Why did I open my big mouth? He probably doesn't even want to be in the same room with me anymore. I'm so stupid for telling him all of that. Stupid, stupid, stu-_

Harry's self directed tirade was cut short when he heard his professor inform him, "I'll be back in just a moment."

Harry opened his eyes, _When had he shut them?,_ just in time to see the edge of Severus' cloak disappear out his bedroom door. As he waited for his professor to return, he couldn't help the direction his thoughts had taken. _Why do I have to act like such a freak sometimes? Why? I just panicked over nothing. Why can't I just be normal? There must be something wrong with me. That must be why._

It was at this point that Severus returned, and Harry quickly wiped at his suddenly moist eyes. The man seemed to pause when this happened, but the action was so momentary that Harry thought that he had perhaps imagined it. The bed dipped as Severus seated himself again.

"I brought this for you."

When curiosity finally got the better of him, Harry slowly pushed his blanket away from his face so he could see what was in his professor's hand. But even after he got a good look at it, he still couldn't tell what it was.

The man was holding a small glowing orb, its light twinkling between soft white and pale blue. Severus whispered a spell that Harry couldn't quite make out, and the strange glowing ball slowly rose into the air, not stopping until it was halfway to the ceiling.

Harry looked questionably back to his professor, but the man answered the question before it could even be asked.

"It's a night light."

Now Harry was really dumbfounded. A night light? The man had brought him a night light? Harry was very thankful for it, truly he was, but why would Snape of all people even have one?

The man was staring at him again, but instead of feeling uneasy about it, a rush of gratitude flooded through Harry. He looked back up at the orb where it softly glowed above him, and then looked out into the corners of his room. Gone were the shadows that lurked there at night; instead, the room was filled with the peaceful shades of light shimmering from the orb.

"Thank you." And then a beat later, Harry worriedly added, "You won't tell Draco will you?"

Harry thought that he could see the corner of his professor's mouth turn up into what might have been a smile, but it was gone just as quickly as it had come, and Harry decided it must have been a trick of the light, for a moment later, Snape's voice answered him just as seriously as it always did.

"Of course not."

Then the man turned to leave, but before he could make it even halfway to the door, Harry couldn't help but ask, "Where did it come from? I've never seen one before."

Just before Severus disappeared from view, Harry could hear the man's answer.

"It used to be Draco's light."

A/N: Yes, yes, I know I had promised quite a few of you that this chapter would be posted weeks and weeks ago, but I ended up with a bad case of writer's block on the last page I was writing that I could not fix. Finally, out of desperation, I erased the last third of the chapter and rewrote it…so, here you go. I'm pleased how it turned out, and I hope all of you like it as well.

Also, a couple readers brought to my attention that I had forgotten to explain Severus' password for entering his quarters. Thank you for reminding me, and I will remedy that as soon as I get to a point in the story where I can slip it in.

One last thing I want to clear up, and I apologize for not explaining it sooner, but there was some confusion with some of my readers concerning Severus' treatment of Harry's problems. First, I will address the eating issues. Some have pointed out that Snape is making Harry throw up by forcing him to eat solids after such a long period of starvation. The Stomach Soothing Potion is _supposed_ to counteract all of the negative effects from Harry eating solids again. Harry is not supposed to be throwing up. You'll find out more about all of that at a later point in the story.

Secondly, one kind reader pointed out that Snape was wrong by stopping Harry from cutting altogether without giving him a different way to cope with what he was feelings. I agree that Snape is making it difficult for Harry, but most of that is because of the history the two have together. Snape is trying in his own snarky way to do things the right way, but years of prejudice can be hard to change. In this fic, they both have issues to deal with. But things will get better for them eventually; it's just slow going for now.

Lastly, I want to say thank you to all of my wonderful readers out there. I love the reviews I get, and they are the perfect motivation for me when I'm writing. In fact, I save the really good ones to read over and over again for inspiration.

Please send a review, and feel free to tell me what you think of the story, or even suggest things you would like to see happen in the fic. I read all reviews and try to respond to each of them. Thank you so much for all your support. **Please review!**


	16. Something Would Have To Be Done

Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter, blah, blah, blah…Well, you all get the point by now, right? So, on with the story!

…

Where Do I Go From Here?

….

Chap. 16 Something Would Have To Be Done

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Harry woke Saturday morning to the low rumble of thunder in the distance. As he opened his eyes, he took a moment to glance out his enchanted window and could see the promise of rain on the horizon, the sky already beginning to darken to an ominous shade of gray. He rolled over and lay quietly for a few moments, until another rumble, this time of his stomach, made him decide it was time to get up. As he reached for the edge of his blanket with the intention of removing it from where it still covered most of his body, he couldn't help but notice how stiff and sore his left hand was.

Long seconds later, the fog surrounding his brain seemed to clear and he sat back upon his bed as he began to remember the events of the previous night…being confronted by Draco, pounding his fist on the wall, crying on Snape, and being woken in the middle of the night by a nightmare. With a start, he threw his gaze upward, and sure enough, there was the softly glowing orb that Snape had given him. The small sphere still hung suspended in the air above his bed, still keeping its silent vigil.

Harry felt a wave of embarrassment wash over him, followed by an awkward gratitude. A nightlight; the man had given him a nightlight. And he had let Harry cry all over him and had not ridiculed him for it. Glancing once again at his left hand, he gave a few testing waves of his fingers and, although they were stiff, they were still usable and without a blemish. Perhaps, Snape wasn't_ all_ bad. Throwing off his blanket, Harry set about getting dressed for the day.

oOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOo

. It had been a long night. Severus rolled over with a groan, fished his wand from beneath his pillow and cast _tempus. _6:41 a.m. It was too damn early a time to have to be up on a Saturday morning. Hearing movement from the room beyond, he wearily rose from his warm sheets and got ready for the day.

By the time he was fully showered and dressed, it had again grown quiet in his quarters. Stepping from his room, Severus scanned his sitting area and found Draco still asleep on the transfigured cot, and Potter… no, Harry, he reminded himself…Harry was sitting at the small table, absent-mindedly flipping through pages of his Charms textbook. After a moment, the boy seemed to sense Severus' presence and he straightened up in his chair and turned to stare back at him. A few seconds later, and Harry broke into movement. He scooped up his book and held it to his chest a moment before turning to head back to his room. Severus held a hand up to forestall the boy and informed him, "Don't leave on my account. You can study here if you need to."

"Yes, Sir" came the weak reply. "But I thought you might like the table to be clear so that you could order breakfast."

The statement was followed by a grumble of sound as Harry's stomach protested the dinner that the child missed the night before.

_So, the child was hungry…well, that would be a good start to the morning. Perhaps, the boy is starting to fall into healthy eating habits again._

Severus waved the child on, and Harry left to deposit the book in his room as an order was placed with a house elf for breakfast.

oOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOo

Harry pushed the Charms book into his overly full satchel, and made his way back to the table, glancing at a still-sleeping Draco on his way past the cot the other boy was laying on. As he neared his seat, Harry halted his steps, wondering if he should wake the other boy for breakfast, but his professor's voice stopped him.

"Leave him be for now. He's had a long night as well."

Harry was torn between embarrassment and guilt, and he couldn't help but to hang his head a little as he slid into his seat at the table. By the time he had fully seated himself, a small elf had already begun popping in and out of the room as it brought an entire array of breakfast items to choose from.

As the elf popped out for the last time, Harry straightened up in his chair, looking over the platters to see if there was anything that wouldn't upset his stomach too badly. He knew from experience what kinds of foods were the least liable to cause his stomach to revolt, and with as many problems as he had lately trying to keep his food down, he didn't want to take any chances. He waited for his professor to sit as well so that he could serve himself, and as the man neared the table again, Harry could see that he was holding several flasks of potions. It took Harry a moment to remember what they were for. He smiled as he thought of the creamy, mint flavored Stomach Soothing potion, but then he thought of the bitter nutrient potion and it almost made him lose his appetite.

Severus sat them on the table in front of him, and eager to eat, Harry quickly drank down the Stomach Soothing potion, but paused as he held up the mud-colored nutrient potion.

"Do I have to?" Harry complained, "I promise to eat more today, really. Can't I skip it just this once?"

"Need I remind you that you skipped dinner last night?" Snape questioned. "You need it to help make up for the meal you missed. Stop complaining and swallow it. The sooner you do, the sooner we can both eat."

With a grumble of complain under his breath, Harry emptied the vial in one long swig, and he coughed several times as the concoction seemed to coat his mouth and throat with its bitterness. Severus handed him the glass of pumpkin juice that the house elf had delivered and Harry emptied half its contents before returning the glass to the table. As they both served themselves from the platters, a rustling from behind them let them know that Draco was beginning to wake up. Harry listened as the other boy shuffled off to the bathroom, and as the door clicked shut, he turned to his professor to ask the man a question, but his question was answered before he could even ask it when Severus replied, "Yes, he will be eating with us."

At first, Harry was angry at that, but then he remembered how he had accidentally punched Draco in the stomach last night. Harry almost smiled at the thought before remembering that Draco had also been witness to a lot of the other things that had occurred last night. And although the other teen hadn't teased him about any of it yet, that didn't mean anything had changed between them. So, Harry was wary about how the morning would go.

When Draco stepped from the bathroom minutes later wearing a fresh set of clothes, Harry assumed that the other teen must have his own personal house elf at Hogwarts for times such as these. Draco sat at the table across from where Harry was sitting, and for the next several minutes, silence reigned as they all ate and kept their thoughts to themselves.

After a while, Severus asked Draco, "What time will you be holding the Slytherin Quidditch tryouts today?"

"Does it really matter?" Draco grumpily answered, "It will be raining most of today, so I'll get soaked regardless."

Draco stabbed at his eggs as Severus fought not to roll his eyes in exasperation.

As the pair's conversation rolled on, Harry was just glad the attention was off him for once. He finished off his toast and was actually thinking of having a second piece when his stomach suddenly cramped and he jerked so hard in response to the pain, that his knees knocked into the underside of the table and the other two inhabitants of the room stopped their encroaching argument to stare at him in surprise.

"Sorry," he mumbled out. Stumbling to his feet, he asked "May I please be excused?"

Snape gave a nod of consent, and Harry fled from the room. He practically ran to the bathroom before diving onto his knees and vomiting into the toilet. Even after everything he ate came up, he continued to dry heave until he lay panting for breath, leaning against the rim and practically hugging the bowl.

oOoOoOoooOoOoOoOo

Draco watched as Harry ran from the room. He knew what was going on, and apparently, so did Severus, because he certainly didn't look happy about it. Well, he had told Harry to tell Severus, and it seems he didn't. Well, then, he would tell him, himself.

"There's something I need to tell you about, Sir, and I should have told you sooner, but with everything that was going on, I just didn't get a chance. It's about Potter…"

oOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOo

After long moments spent catching his breath, Harry picked himself off the floor and tried to tidy himself up. Using a wadded up piece of toilet paper, he proceeded to clean his face of the bits of spittle that were still clinging to his lips. After flushing the toilet twice, rinsing his mouth at the sink, and then smoothing his hair out with some water from the tap, he dried his hands and made his way back to the table.

As he approached his seat, he could smell what was left on the platters of food and his stomach seemed to cramp again at the thought of even trying to eat anything else. Feeling achy and tired from his recent bout of nausea, Harry wanted nothing more than to retreat to his room so that he could rest on his bed for a bit.

As he by-passed the table on his trek to the privacy of his room, his professor called him back. He reluctantly returned, but he remained standing, his hands gripping harshly on the back of his chair as if it was shielding him in some way from the remains of his half eaten breakfast. He waited a moment for the man to say something, but it was Draco who broke the silence.

"I need to be going now, Severus. Is it alright if I return after the Quidditch tryouts this afternoon?"

"Of course, Draco," Severus replied, "But bring your books. I know you haven't finished your transfiguration essay as of yet, and you know how I feel about procrastination."

Draco grimaced at the thought of the schoolwork he would have to do, but he nodded his head in assent regardless, and within moments, he had gathered his satchel and departed, the door closing behind him with a soft click.

Harry suddenly had the feeling that Draco must have left so soon for a reason, and that reason was staring at him right now. Somehow, Harry just knew he wouldn't like whatever it was that the man wanted to discuss. Severus motioned for the boy to take a seat, but Harry rubbed a hand over his stomach and asked if they could sit elsewhere. Seeming to instantly understand what the problem was, Harry was directed into the sitting room instead.

At first, Severus seated himself in his favorite wing backed chair, but instead of Harry choosing to sit in the chair near his own, the boy sat on the end of the loveseat, the furthest away he could sit from the man. With a small huff of irritation, Severus stood back up and made his way over the loveseat as well. He wanted to have a serious talk with the boy, and he felt it would go better if they weren't sitting so far away from each other.

When Harry saw his professor sit down right next to him, he couldn't help the instinct that made him push himself even further away from the man. Harry didn't stop shifting in his seat until he had squished himself up against the armrest. And even after he settled himself, Harry still couldn't make himself look him in the eye.

Severus could tell the boy was nervous, and truth be told, he was somewhat unsettled himself, but he certainly would never let the boy know that. Unlike the teen before him, Severus kept a tight reign on his emotions. The child looked as if he would bolt any second, and he just might, Severus considered, so he might as well get on with the task at hand. And Merlin help him, he saw no other way to go about it than to be blunt.

"I know about the vomiting."

Harry's eyes grew wider but the apprehension he was feeling prevented him from immediately responding, so Severus decided he'd better lead the conversation forward.

"And I would like to know how long it's been going on."

Harry didn't even know how to answer that. Was he about to get in trouble for something that was beyond his control? But then again, he reasoned to himself, Snape probably _would_ be mad since Harry had been throwing up all the potions that Snape must have spent a lot of time brewing for him. And even if he did choose to answer him, what would he say? He always had trouble with holding food down after spending the summer with his relatives. And even though he had a few days where he was able to keep his food down since he returned to Hogwarts, he had been throwing up often these last few days, so had it ever really stopped being a problem for him? By now, Harry was sure his continued silence would make his Professor get irate with him, but as he glanced in the man's direction, he didn't see anger, only a look of seriousness and openness that made him want to break his silence, but still, he didn't know how to respond.

Feeling the need to say _something,_ Harry dejectedly muttered, "I don't know. A long while, I guess."

Severus seemed to consider the words, and then asked, "How long is a while?"

Harry subconsciously rubbed over the scar on the palm of his left hand as he answered, "Around a month, or so."

Severus nodded his understanding and then asked his next big question, the one he had been dreading asking, "Have you been doing it on purpose?"

Harry's eyes jumped up to meet Severus' in disbelief and without even thinking about it, he blurted out his reply, "No, of course not. Why would you think even think that? Why would anyone ever do _that _on purpose?"

Severus' first thought was that the boy was telling the truth; in fact, the child's body language and rapidity of his response made him sure of it, but it directly opposed the conclusion he had come to when presented with the facts. From what Draco had told him, and from what he had witnessed as well, Severus knew the boy had been throwing up after meals, even after receiving a potion designed with the very purpose of keeping that from happening, and Severus was at a loss as to how else to explain the cause of it all.

"I have to consider all options, Potter. The facts are as follows; you have been vomiting after meals, despite the fact that you've been consuming the Stomach Soothing potion on a regular basis. I know that potion works because I developed and brewed it myself. It has been a common staple in Madam Pomfrey's stores of healing potions for the past seven years or so. How else can you explain it?"

"But why would anyone want to do that on purpose," Harry exclaimed, wanting to make sure his Professor understood how ridiculous a concept it all was. "I hate throwing up."

Severus was loathed to bring up the many varied reasons why someone would regularly vomit on purpose, for the last thing he needed was to put ideas or further concerns in the child's head. So, he directed the conversation away from that line of questioning.

"How often has this been occurring? After every meal, or just once in a while?

"Um," Harry hesitated and thought back over the last few days, "Usually, not more than once a day."

And because he was still worried about getting in trouble for it, he hurriedly added, "It's not so bad, not really. And like I said, it usually only happens once a day. I'm alright."

A sardonic eyebrow raised in disbelief, Severus was barely able to cut the derision out of his voice as he replied, "Even if it was only once a week, it would be one time too many."

And wanting to drive the point home, he used the technique he had learned over the last few days that he knew would make the child take what he said to heart, "And Harry, you are _not_ 'alright'. Surely, you see that. You're practically skin and bones as it is; you can't afford to allow this to continue. Your magic is already being taxed in order to compensate for your poor health just to keep you going, surely you've noticed?"

Harry was confused. This was the first he had heard of all this. "What are you talking about?"

Severus had thought that perhaps Madam Pomfrey would have mentioned it to the boy, but apparently not. "Have you been having any trouble with your spell casting lately?"

Harry thought back over the last few days and conceded, "Yes; a little."

"Think of it like this," Severus explained, "your magic is so busy with the daunting task of keeping your body going, of trying to heal your body's physical deficiencies, that there is, quite literally, not enough magic to spare for unnecessary things like levitation spells and the like."

Severus watched the boy's eyes widen in comprehension, and knew it must have been more than just a 'little' trouble with spells. He would have to keep an eye on that. But for now, there were bigger issues to be dealing with.

"From now on," Severus began, and he waited for the boy to regain eye contact before continuing, "I want you to alert me as soon as you start to feel nauseous. There are several potions we can try that might help, but they must be taken just as you are starting to feel sick."

"Can't I take them before I eat; wouldn't that make more sense?"

"Unfortunately, while the potions I have in mind are fast-acting, their effects are also short-lived, so we'll just have to be prepared, and have one on hand during meals."

Harry nodded his understanding.

"So," Severus then asked, "Can I trust that you'll tell me when you are in need of something to alleviate the nausea?"

"Yes, Sir." Harry answered. And even though he felt like he should be at least a little hacked off by his professor butting into his privacy even more, Harry also felt a surge of warmth go through him. Rarely had any adult shown such an interest in his wellbeing before. Sure, Madam Pomfrey had patched him up a fair number of times, but that was just her doing her job, right?

Severus broke Harry from his thoughts as he rose from where he had been sitting and directed the boy, "Come."

Harry craned his neck to look up at the imposing figure standing over him, and for a moment, he just stared up with what had to be a confused expression, for a second later, his professor explained.

"I think it would behoove you to let Madam Pomfrey perform a full checkup again. We'll need to see if you've lost anymore weight, and I think it would be a good idea to have her check your magic levels as well."

Again, Harry nodded his consent as he pushed himself out of his comfortable seat. Honestly, the last thing he wanted was to see the hospital wing again, so soon. But as the weakness in his legs made him almost stumble on his way to the door, he thought that perhaps his professor was right. Something would have to be done. He didn't think he could keep going on like this.

A/N: I know It's been a long time since I updated this story, but I hope that I haven't lost too many of my readers. This chapter is a little shorter than usual, but I had reached a good stopping point, so here you go! I've already started on the next chapter; so hopefully, there won't be an incredibly long wait between updates again. Thank you to all of my faithful readers. Please let me know if you're all still out there. Your lovely reviews always give me inspiration to write!


	17. At the Infirmary Again

Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter, blah, blah, blah…Well, you all get the point by now, right? So, on with the story!

…

Where Do I Go From Here?

….

Chap. 17 At the Infirmary Again

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The trek from the dungeons up to the infirmary seemed so much longer than it had any right to be, at least in Harry's opinion. He followed a step behind his professor as they maneuvered their way up moving staircases and down long corridors, and they were slowed by the fact that Harry had to stop several times along the way, much to Snape's great consternation, so that Harry could rest a moment and catch his breath. Harry counted himself lucky that they had only passed a few other students on the way, though that probably had less to do with luck, and rather more to do with the fact that it was still a rather early time to be up on a Saturday morning.

The pair had arrived at their destination sooner than Harry would have liked. Even though Harry had agreed to go, that didn't mean he was looking forward to it. Severus swept through the double doors with no hesitation, but a few steps in, he stopped and turned with a sigh to see where Harry was still standing just outside the doors.

"Come along, Potter. I don't want to be here any more than you do. Let's just get this over with before any of the other students wander in needing Madam Pomfrey's services."

Harry double checked to be sure they were the only ones in the infirmary, and after taking a deep breath in order to steel his nerves, he made his way into the room and settled himself on the bed his professor was pointing to. Severus made sure to make eye contact and directed Harry to 'stay put' before going in search of the mediwitch.

Harry watched his professor knock on Madam Pomfrey's office door, and after a few minutes wait, the door opened and his professor disappeared inside a second before the door snicked shut again. Harry knew Snape was probably explaining the circumstances to Madam Pomfrey, and he crossed his arms over his chest with a shiver of anxiety. He wasn't even sure why he was so worried; surely, it wouldn't be too bad. She'd likely just cast a few diagnostic spells, start him on a new potion to settle his stomach, and then Harry could once again escape to the privacy of his room in the dungeons. For a few moments, Harry's thoughts were derailed as he realized with a start that he actually kinda' liked his quiet room down there, even if it was located in Snape's quarters. But before he could ponder that surprising self revelation, the sound of a pair of approaching footsteps dragged his thoughts back to his immediate surroundings.

"Madam Pomfrey will be here in a few moments," Severus explained, walking over to where Harry was quietly sitting. The man summoned a chair from across the ward and seated himself near where Harry was perched on the edge of the bed. The close proximity made Harry slide a little further back on the bed in apprehension, and the serious look he was getting from his professor made him want to wilt back even further.

"Uh…" Harry scratched nervously at the back of his neck and asked, "Am I in trouble for something?"

"What?" Severus was momentarily taken aback, but was quick to reassure the boy, noting how the child was shrinking back from him. "No, you're not. But I do have something I need to discuss with you while we wait."

Harry's eyes widened a little. Whatever this was about, it didn't sound like it would be a conversation he was going to like.

"Truthfully, we should have talked about this days ago, when it first came to my attention, but with the events of the past several days, I had not had the opportunity to bring it up. But now seems to be as good a time as any."

He paused, and to Harry, it seemed as if the man was debating with himself how best to put what he wanted to say into words.

"Several days ago, when Madam Pomfrey first discovered the evidence of your cutting, she also discovered some odd shaped bruises on your body, or more precisely, on your neck, that closely resemble bite marks."

Severus paused again to see if the boy would say anything, but Harry remained silent. However, Severus didn't miss the way Harry's hand seemed to reach towards his neck as if to touch the spot where the bruises were found. The child's hand stopped in midair before it actually made contact with the healed areas of his neck, and then he slowly lowered it until it once again rested in his lap; neither of them failed to notice the almost subconscious action.

"Harry," Severus started, knowing he would have the boy's full attention that way. "Can you tell me how those marks got on your neck?"

Harry slowly shook his head in answer, but that wasn't nearly enough to satisfy Severus.

"Harry," he tried again. "Tell me who did that to you."

Worried he was about to get in trouble for not answering, Harry tried to clarify his previous answer as best he could.

"I don't know, Sir. I really don't." This time, Harry could not keep his hand from rubbing at the spot where the worse of the marks had been. "They just appeared one morning."

Severus though about it for a few moments and then asked, "What were you doing the night before? Who were you with?"

Harry's eyes narrowed as he tried to remember, but no matter how hard he concentrated, he couldn't seem to come up with anything. Seeing how the boy was struggling with his thoughts, Severus asked, "Well, do you at least remember what day it happened?"

Harry thought back to when he had first caught a glimpse of the marks as he had looked in the mirror that fateful morning. "Um, the first time I saw the marks was the morning after I had a detention with you."

It was now Severus' turn to narrow his eyes in thought. After a moment, he asked, "Where did you go after leaving the Potions classroom?"

"I remember-" But then Harry stopped speaking. He had been about to tell his professor about how he had eaten the food that the man had told him to return to the Hogwarts' kitchen, but afraid he would get scolded for having disobeyed that night, Harry decided to skip that part. With a forced cough to cover up his indiscretion, he continued, "-Uh, I remember returning the platters to the kitchen, and then…"

Again, Harry nervously scratched at the back of his neck before concluding, "I guess I must have fallen asleep in one of the corridors, because I remember waking up on the floor, just a short walk away from Moaning Myrtle's bathroom."

Severus was eying him up and down, and Harry felt his cheeks flush with embarrassment as the professor finally scolded him, just as Harry knew he eventually would.

"And you didn't think, for even a moment, that it was odd to wake up in the middle of a corridor with no recollection whatsoever of how you came to be there?"

"Yes, I though it was odd," Harry attempted to explain, "but-"

Harry floundered trying to find the right words for what he had to say, "but I've had a lot on my mind lately, and when it happened, I-" Harry threw his hands up in frustration, "I had bigger things to worry about at the time."

Severus nodded his head in understanding. "Calm down, Harry. I believe you."

He waited for Harry to settle down some, and as soon as the boy's breathing evened back out from the harsh, somewhat panicked breathing from moments before, he continued.

"However, that does bring me to the next thing I wanted to discuss with you."

Severus wanted to say more, but Poppy chose that exact moment to come bustling through her office door. Severus glanced at Harry and couldn't help but notice the relieved sigh that left the boy's lips at what he saw as his reprieve. As soon as the child looked in his direction, Severus gave him his best 'we will discuss this later' look, which Harry obviously understood, because he gave a quick nod in return just as the mediwitch neared.

"Sorry it took me so long, Severus, but I had to gather a few supplies," she smiled warmly as she patted the black medical bag she had carried with her from her office. She sat it on the foot of the bed, and as she opened its clasp and reached inside, she turned to Harry.

"Good morning, Mr. Potter. Professor Snape informed me that we'll need to do another full check up on you. So," and with this she pulled a muggle-looking hospital gown from her bag and held it out to Harry, "I'll need you to undress and slip this on, dear."

Harry stared down at the swath of fabric he now held in his hands. _She has got to be kidding! I'm not putting that thing on!_ His thoughts ran rampant in his head as Madam Pomfrey went about setting up a partition around his bed with a few well-practiced flicks of her wand.

"Uh, I-" Harry stammered a bit, then swallowed down his nervousness and said, "I thought you were just going to do a few spells on me to find out what's wrong."

Madam Pomfrey patted a warm hand on Harry's shoulder and explained, "There's more to it than that, dear. I'll not only be looking for the cause of your nausea, but I need to find out how much it has affected your physical health."

Harry shot a look from the mediwitch, to his professor and Severus added, "Your weight was already dangerously low, we have to make sure it hasn't worsened."

Severus stood and instructed Harry, "Do as she says. We'll step out to allow you some privacy; just call out when you're ready, we'll be right outside the curtain."

Harry wasn't sure if Snape was telling him that as a type of reassurance, or as a way of making sure Harry knew that he didn't have a chance if he tried to leave; and the way he was feeling right then, he wasn't so sure he wouldn't make a break for it if he had a chance to. The two adults stepped past the curtained divider and Harry slowly removed his clothes, piece by piece until, with a shiver, he slipped the gown over his head and pulled the blanket off the bed to wrap around his shoulders as well. Feeling a little more protected with the blanket draped over him, he quietly called out, "I'm done."

To Harry's surprise, both adults reentered his curtained off area. He knew Madam Pomfrey would come back, but he had assumed his professor would remain on the other side of the partition. But sure enough, the man sat himself back down in the chair he had earlier occupied and, after taking in Harry's strained expression, he asked, "Do you want me to leave?"

"No! Uh," Harry hadn't meant for his reply to come so quickly and with such force, but he was still anxious and he didn't want to feel alone just right then. "I mean, no, sir. You can stay if you want."

Severus could pick up on the false bravado, but decided to ignore it. He could tell the boy was somewhat scared, and he scooted his chair just a little bit closer. He knew he had made the right move, because he watched as some of the tension left the boy's stiff shoulders.

Madam Pomfrey started with the basic spells that checked for wounds and genetic abnormalities. But when those didn't provide her with the answer she was seeking, she moved on to a more complex spell; one that would detect whether Harry had been subjected to any hexes or curses. When that fell through with no results, she switched tactics, and preformed a spell that would measure the amount of Harry's body fat.

Harry didn't know what spells she was doing, but he could tell on the last one that the results must not have been good. She had gotten quite a serious look on her face and slid her wand back into her pocket to scribble something down on a piece of parchment she had with her. This, of course, drew his professor's attention as well, and the man stood from his seat and stepped close enough to her to read what she had written. When Harry saw the thin-lipped look of what had to be concern on Severus' face, he clutched at his blanket all the tighter.

Severus sat back down as Madam Pomfrey proceeded to pull a muggle type scale from her bag as well. Harry figured her bag must be charmed, because he knew there couldn't possibly be room for that thing in the small satchel otherwise. The scale was sat upon the floor, and Madam Pomfrey instructed him to stand on it.

"Come along, dear. We need to get your weight the old-fashioned way, much more accurate reading that way."

Harry stood, and Severus reached out to slip the blanket off Harry's frail shoulders. "You can have this back in a moment, let's get your weight first."

Harry nodded and stepped onto the scale, sure that the thing would start shaking with the amount of shivering he was doing. Mercifully, Madam Pomfrey was quick, and Harry was back to his warmed spot on the bed and under the blanket again in the matter of a few seconds.

Madam Pomfrey scribbled some more down on her piece of parchment before telling Harry to lie back on the bed.

"What? Why?" he asked, wrapping the blanket even more securely around himself. He wasn't even sure what he was so scared of; he just knew he hated being under close scrutiny of any kind.

"It's just part of the check up, Mr. Potter. My diagnostic spells weren't able to tell me why you've been having such a problem lately with food, so I'm going to examine you physically."

Harry was already starting to breath faster, and Severus, who was evidently prepared for this scenario, pulled a vial out of one of his pockets, uncorked it, and held it out for Harry to take. But rather than take the potion, Harry merely stared at it instead and asked, "W-what's that for?"

"It's a calming potion, Harry. I think it would be in your best interest to take it."

The man forced the small bottle into Harry's hand, and with another shiver, Harry closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and swallowed the entire dose down in one gulp before he could change his mind.

Harry could feel the potion spread through his body like warm honey through his veins, making his limbs feel heavy and forcing his muscles to go limp. As the tension started to drain out of his body, Harry released a sigh and felt a little light headed.

Severus watched the boy's shoulders droop down and his hands fall slack to his sides from where he had been gripping the edges of the blanket. Worried that the child would fall over, likely right off the bed, Severus decided he had better get him to lie down before he could hurt himself. He gripped the boy by the shoulders and guided him down to the mattress. Harry settled where he was laid with a renewed shiver as he felt the coldness of the sheets.

Not missing the signs of how cold the boy seemed to be, Severus pulled the blanket free from where Harry seemed to be laying across part of it, and covered the child up to his waist. Instinctively, Harry grabbed it and tried to cover up fully with it, but Madam Pomfrey had just stepped over to the other side of the bed, opposite Severus, and laid a warm hand across one of Harry's cold ones, staying his movements with a light bit of pressure. Harry was about to complain about how cold he was, but Madam Pomfrey chose that moment to explain why he had to stay partially uncovered.

"Harry, I'm going to need you to leave the blanket where it is; I'll be doing the next part of your check up now, so I'll be pressing around your tummy a bit to make sure there's nothing wrong with you on the inside. I need you to lay straight on your back and be still; it shouldn't take but a few moments to get done."

After that, she looked at Severus and gave a little nod, and while she turned back to write something else on her parchment, Severus stood and started to raise Harry's gown, pulling the end of it free from where it was trapped under the blanket at Harry's waist, and pushing it up to Harry's chest. At first, Harry gasped in surprise and gripped the fabric of the gown in each fist to try to prevent it, but finally complied when his professor explained what he was doing,

"Calm down, Harry. She can not check what she can't see. As soon as she is done, you can cover up again."

And again the man was saying his name as if it was a spell in and of itself to calm Harry down, and as far as Harry was concerned, it might as well be, considering how it always did just that. He relaxed his grip and allowed his gown to be arranged as the man saw fit. Helplessly, he shivered again, feeling somewhat embarrassed to be laying practically half dressed in front of his professor. Harry turned his head away and shut his eyes tight as he tried to ignore what was going on, but when a feeling of warmth suddenly enveloped his body as if he had just lowered himself into a hot bath, his eyes flew open just in time to see his professor slide his wand back up his sleeve. It took his foggy brain a moment to realize it, but the man had just cast a warming charm on him.

"Thank you."

It barely came out as more than a whisper, but Severus heard it all the same. He acknowledged the gratitude with a slight incline of the head and Harry couldn't help but grin a little. This experience wasn't nearly so bad now that he didn't feel as if he were about to freeze to death.

Madam Pomfrey had put her parchment away by then and was once again at the side of the bed, already reaching over Harry to continue the exam. As she pressed her fingers down just above his bellybutton to feel for abnormalities, Harry squirmed a little at the discomfort; his stomach muscles were sore from all of the vomiting he had been doing the last few days. She pressed a little harder and Harry couldn't help it, he rolled to the side, away from her questing hands and complained, "Stop! You're hurting me."

"Mr. Potter," she started firmly, but not unkindly, "I know it can be uncomfortable, and I'm sorry for that, but if you will just be still, I will be done all the faster."

"Alright, I'll try," he answered. But again she pressed a sore spot and in an effort to keep himself from flinching away, Harry threw his hands out to either side of his body, hoping to find some kind of anchor. His left hand ended up curled around a fold of the blanket that was pooled around his waist, but the other hand felt warmth, and he grabbed onto it, not knowing what it was at the moment, but beyond caring as the mediwitch's fingers moved to yet another sore spot.

It was a few moments before he shifted his gaze to see what he had grabbed, and in shock, he realized it was his professor's hand. Harry's eyes panned upward to see how angry the man was about it, but he seemed to be just as surprised as Harry was. He certainly hadn't meant to grab Snape's hand, but now that he knew, he found himself reluctant to let go.

Madam Pomfrey was done a few seconds later, and as soon as she pulled away, Professor Snape did as well. The man quickly slid his hand out of the boy's reach, leaving Harry feeling bereft at the loss of warmth and human contact. But a second later, Harry shook himself out of it. He wasn't some baby; why should he want to hold someone's hand? And if he were to hold someone's hand, Professor Snape would likely be his last choice. Harry quickly pushed his gown back into place and yanked the covers back over himself just before turning on his side, away from his professor, trying to hide the embarrassment he knew could be seen on his face. If he had known how this visit to the infirmary was going to go, he never would have agreed to come in the first place.

oOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOo

A/N: I wanted to post this a long time ago, but I've been dealing with a lot of internet issues here at my new house. Urgh! Well, better late then never I guess. I hope you enjoy this new chapter. And I would love to see what your thoughts are on the cause of Harry's illness; I'll let you know if you get it right!


	18. No Other Choice

Disclaimer: These aren't my characters, Duh!

Where Do I Go From Here?

Chap. 18 No Other Choice

Harry lay curled up under the blanket and pointedly ignored the activity around him as Madam Pomfrey gathered her things together and started tucking them back into her black medical bag that was still sitting on the foot of the bed. Harry wasn't looking in his professor's direction, but he knew from the sounds of rustling parchment, that the man was most probably looking over the notes that the mediwitch had taken while examining Harry. It took mere moments for Madam Pomfrey to get her things organized, and as she slipped out of the curtained area, Professor Snape rose to follow her. On his way out, he stopped at the side of the bed.

"I'll be back in a few minutes. Madam Pomfrey and I need to discuss a few things regarding the results of her testing. I want you to stay here, understood?"

Snape waited until Harry gave a small, quick nod of his head in affirmation, before disappearing from view as he too stepped out of the curtained area.

It wasn't until he was sure he was alone that Harry dared to turn over and view the space at the side of the bed that the professor had just occupied. On one hand, he was glad that both Madam Pomfrey and Professor Snape left, because Harry needed a few minutes to let his embarrassment die down from having grabbed Snape's hand minutes before. But on the other hand, he knew they only left so that they could discuss him and whatever it was that Madam Pomfrey had written on that bit of parchment that Snape had been reading over. Just the thought of them talking about him, even if it was for his own good, was enough to get him a little angry.

_Why must everything happen to me? Why am I such a freak?_

Harry scrubbed his hands over his face, noticing the slight dampness of his eyes as he did so. He took a couple of deep breaths, feeling slightly overwhelmed with the turns his life had taken recently. It seemed as if everything he did was under scrutiny now, and all he really wanted was be just like any other student. Oh, how he wished he were still allowed to cut; at least then, Harry reckoned, he would be better able to deal with all the emotions that seemed to be battling within him for dominance at that moment.

Before he could sink any further into self-pity, Harry heard the click of Pomfrey's office door opening, and the sound of a single set of footsteps briskly making their way towards his bed. Quickly rubbing at his eyes to make sure there were no lingering signs of his previous tears, Harry took a few more deep breaths and did his best to hide the evidence of the fight he'd been having with his emotions.

Snape stepped back into the curtained area and paused when he saw Harry's reddened eyes, but decided not to comment on it, and Harry was relieved to be able to escape any questioning about it. A second later, the man paced back to the chair he had occupied earlier and sat down.

"Harry…," Severus began, and Harry immediately thought it must be bad news if his professor was calling him by his first name again. "Madam Pomfrey and I have reviewed the results of her examination, and although we were unable to deduce anything conclusive about the cause of your illness, we were both in agreement that something must be done beyond the mere simplicity of using anti-nausea potions. You have-"

"Hold on a second…," Harry interrupted. "What are you talking about? What's wrong with me?"

Snape gave a thin-lipped look of disapproval at being interrupted; however, he did choose to re-phrase things so that Harry could better understand.

"We don't know why you continue to experience such severe nausea, but we do both agree that we need to consider something more aggressive than simply using more potions to try to stop the vomiting."

"What do you mean 'more aggressive'?" Harry asked, still confused, but now also somewhat scared. "Why can't we just try a new potion or something?"

Severus seemed exasperated to Harry, like perhaps he was as upset about all of this as Harry was.

"The fact of the matter is, Harry, that you have lost more weight. Not much, granted, but considering how little you weighted the last time you were checked, it is of great concern. We have decided that we can't rely on potions alone anymore. The results of the testing Madam Pomfrey did to measure your magic reserves shows that they are extremely low, and we are not sure how much longer you magic can hold out before it expends itself totally. "

"Wait," Harry interrupted again, fear wrapped around each word "Are you telling me I'll lose my magic?"

Severus was quick to reassure him before the obvious panic could get any worse.

"No, Harry. You won't lose your magic. However, your situation is still quite serious. Let me explain it to you…" Severus took a moment to think about how he wanted to go about explaining it in such a way that Harry would understand, then with a sigh, he continued.

"Think of your magic like a muscle. Some people have stronger muscles than other people, and it is the same way with magic; some people have stronger magic than others. And you know that if you use a certain muscle too much, after a while, you will lose energy and that muscle will feel week. But after a long enough rest, that muscle will feel better and be strong again."

Harry gave a nod of understanding, and Severus continued on. "In a healthy wizard, if they were to use up too much of their magic at once, then they would feel weak, and would have trouble summoning enough of their magic to perform any spells. All they would have to do is rest their magic, avoid doing any spells, and after a few days, their magic levels will be restored."

"But I've not been doing any spells," Harry complained, "I haven't been able to cast a proper spell for days now."

Severus gave him a guarded look. "Do you not remember what I told you before? You've not been able to do any spells because the entirety of your magic is being spent on keeping you going, Harry. If it weren't for your magic, there is a very good chance you wouldn't even be alive right now."

Harry's eyes grew wide with understanding, and he asked, "So, what do I do? How do I fix it?"

With a sigh, Severus answered. "There is no easy fix, Harry. We don't even know what's causing it. All we do know is that the potions aren't helping, or at least not helping enough to make a difference. As I said before, we will have to treat this a bit more aggressively; and that means treating the root of the problem."

Harry gulped down the fear and panic that tried to make itself known, and asked, "And what is the 'root of the problem'?"

"Your low weight." Severus gave his answer very matter-of-factly, and after a pause, he went on. "Since we are unable to find any medical reason for your vomiting, Madam Pomfrey is convinced that it must be occurring due to a non-medical reason."

"Huh?…" Harry's face scrunched up in confusion. "What does that even mean?"

"Harry, I've asked once before, and I have to ask you again. And I want you to be honest with me…Are you making yourself throw up?"

"What?!" Harry could feel the sharp spike of disbelief and anger stab at him. "Of course not! I already told you that, and I wasn't lying!"

Severus held up his hand, palm out, as if calming a wild animal. "Alright, Harry. I believe you. But I want you to calm down so we can continue our talk."

Harry stared at the man's hand for a second, so mad he felt like biting it, but then he forcibly calmed himself down, and sat back on the bed, not having realized when he had stood up.

Once Severus was satisfied that Harry had calmed, he continued, "Regardless of the 'why' behind it, you are still not getting enough food into your system to sustain you. And if something is not done, then it is only a matter of time before your magic is stretched to its limit and simply gives out, at which point, you would likely die."

Harry's breath escaped him in a rush of air as the seriousness of the situation fully hit him, and he stared down at his hands, where they were resting in his lap. "So, what happens now?"

"Well," and again Severus sighed, which Harry decided did not bode well for him, "We have to get your weight up by any means possible."

Harry's eyes shot back to his professor's as he asked, "And what exactly does that mean?"

"Madam Pomfrey has decided that the best course of action is to monitor you while you eat to see if she can spot something I may be missing as to the cause of the nausea. "

Harry let out a deep breath of air. "Well, that doesn't sound so bad. You had me worried, you know."

When the professor didn't immediately respond, Harry dolefully asked, "there's more to it than that, isn't there?"

"Yes, there is. If you fail to keep your food down, it has been decided that a feeding tube might be in your best interest."

"What?!" Harry was standing again in the blink of an eye, and Severus discretely pulled out his wand, ready to spell the doors to the infirmary closed in case the child decided to run.

"You can't do that!" Harry's voice continued to rise alongside his mounting panic. "What gives you the right to make those kinds of decisions? I'm not doing it!"

Harry could tell that Professor Snape was upset by the thin line of the man's mouth and the way his jaw muscle clenched as he ground his teeth together in his attempt to control his anger. Harry knew he shouldn't have yelled at him like that, especially not after everything the man had done for him, but the truth of the matter was that he was scared, and with everything that had been happening the past week, his emotions were hard to control.

Apparently, Professor Snape thought the same thing about Harry and his emotional outburst, because Harry could tell that the man was making a concentrated effort to restrain himself from saying something scathing in return.

"Sit down." Although Severus had said it quite firmly, Harry knew the response to his behavior could have been much worse, and he reluctantly took his seat on the edge of the bed, his nervous energy keeping him from relaxing any further than that as he waited to see what else the man would say.

"I'm sorry, Harry, but you really have no choice in the matter." And Harry could detect a hint of something in Severus' voice that told him the man felt bad about it, too.

"But I don't understand," Harry argued, "How will a feeding tube be any different than just eating the regular way. If I'm throwing up, won't I just throw up the feeding tube stuff, too?"

"No," Severus answered. "The nutrients you would receive with a feeding tube are easier to digest, and can be delivered into your system at a consistent, slow rate that should be easier for you to keep down. And it has the advantage of us being able to control what nutrients you get, along with how many."

Severus paused, giving Harry a chance to voice any questions, but when the teen continued his new found silence, he continued.

"I know you don't like this decision, but we really didn't see that we had a choice in the matter. We tried doing things the easy way, and your condition has continued to worsen. "

"But what about school?" Harry was desperately trying to come up with something, anything, to convince them that a feeding tube was a bad idea. "It'll make me miss classes. "

"No, it won't. We can schedule the feedings around your classes. And if you're uncomfortable with others seeing the tube in place, we can spell your glamour to include the tubing so that no one else can see it."

"Wait…" Harry tried to puzzle out that last bit to himself. "What glamour? What are you talking about? I didn't put up a glamour. I can't do any spells, remember?"

And now Harry was sure he saw the corner of the man's mouth twitch up as if fighting a smile. "Surely you noticed that none of the other students have commented on your appearance since you came into my care."

Now that he thought about it, Harry realized that nobody had said anything to him about how he looked, not even his friends. In fact, even the things Ron and Hermione occasionally brought up were directly related to the information he had shared with them of his own volition. But even then, they really only knew about the things Harry directly told them about.

"Sir, who cast the glamour charm on me?" Even as he said it, he knew what the answer would be, so he was almost prepared for it when the man told him.

"I did. Was I incorrect for assuming you didn't want anyone else to find out how your summer went?"

"Oh, no Sir." Harry answered. "I'm glad you did it. But why did you do it? We haven't exactly been chums these last five years."

"I decided you had enough to be going on with, without having to worry about the other students harassing or ridiculing you."

"Oh…" Harry thought about it for a few seconds, and then asked, "If no one else can see it, then who else knows about what happened?"

"If you'll remember, Harry, you were never fully forthcoming when you were questioned on the events that took place, however, concerning the bits you have told us, only Madam Pomfrey, myself, and the Headmaster knows. Your Head of House has been informed of a few of the details of course, but only just enough that she won't question why one of her little lions is missing from his dormitory."

Well, that certainly cleared up a few things in Harry's opinion, and he felt a strong burst of warmth inside when he thought of how much his professor had done for him.

"Thank you, Sir"

Harry received a nod in return, and then his feeling of warmth changed to one of guilt, and he mumbled out an apology.

"I'm sorry for shouting at you earlier. I was just really upset and-"

But then Severus cut him off, "I know you were upset, and you have every right to be. Just remember that, in future, anger is no excuse for disrespect."

"Yes, Sir."

With that matter taken care of, Severus resumed his earlier discussion.

"Madam Pomfrey is currently setting up a room in the back, next to her office. She thought you would prefer a little more privacy than what would be afforded you here in the main section of the hospital wing. In a few moments, we will be going into the back room, where she will order you a plate of food from the kitchens since you didn't keep down your breakfast this morning, nor did you eat dinner last night. "

He waited for Harry to nod in affirmation before he continued.

"We will skip on the usual potions that have been accompanying your meals; however, I will have a new one set aside that is stronger than the typical stomach soothing potion. If you feel that you are about to vomit, I want you tell me so that I can dose you. Understood?"

Harry was trying hard not to let the anxiety concerning it all overwhelm him, so he merely nodded his head again and watched as his professor slipped past the curtains to see if the room was ready for him yet.

Professor Snape returned moments later. "She's ready for you."

"Alright." Harry answered, looking around for the clothes he had come in with so he could change out of the hospital gown he was still wearing.

As soon as Severus understood what the child was looking for, he spoke up, "Your clothes are awaiting you in the new room; however, Madam Pomfrey would like you to wear the gown for now. That way, if you get sick again, you won't have to worry about soiling your clothes."

"Oh." Harry felt his cheeks heat as he realized he would have to walk down the entire wing with nothing on but the short, thin gown. Even though there were no other students lurking about, the idea of it still made him feel uncomfortable.

Snatching the blanket off the bed, he threw it over his shoulders and wrapped the sides of it over his form.

"Alright. I'm ready now" Harry announced. And in a show of bravado, he shuffled past Severus, and went around the curtains that had been hiding his bed from view. Even without looking, he could feel the man's eyes on him as Severus followed him to the back corner of the wing. And there he stopped, not sure of what to do next.

Severus reached out to the grasp the handle of a door that Harry had always assumed was a storage room. But when the door swung open, Harry could see it was indeed a small private room. Harry decided that it must be there for the professors to use. But after he stepped inside, he changed his mind about what the room was used for; because once inside, he could see that there wasn't much in the room at all.

There was a bed placed almost in the center of the room, and against one of the walls was a small wooden table with two chairs placed at either end of it. There was also a small window on one wall that let in plenty of light but was set too high for anyone to actually be able to look out of. Lastly, there was a large mirror, opposite the window, that happened to be hanging on the same wall that was shared by Madam Pomfrey's office. Harry had the sinking feeling that if he were in her office right now, he would find a window that looked into this very room.

Seeing all of this, he couldn't force his feet to carry him the rest of the way into the room. Severus had to grasp his arm and gently pull him the rest of the way before shutting the door. His professor led him all the way to the table, and upon seeing that Harry just continued to stand there, he removed the blanket from Harry's shoulders, and motioned for him to take a seat. As soon as the boy had sat down, he cast a warming charm on the blanket and then re-arranged the fabric to better drape around the thin shoulders. Harry hadn't quite realized how cold he had gotten until the heat soaked into his body, and his previously unknown shivering melted away.

He looked up with a smile of gratitude, but he noticed that his professor wasn't even looking his way. The man had turned his attention over to the door, which had just opened to admit Madam Pomfrey carrying a tray with a plate of food and a glass of pumpkin juice on it.

She briskly set it on the table, and then gave Harry's arm a reassuring pat. "Just eat what you can, dear. If your stomach begins to cramp, or if you feel nauseous in any way, I want you to alert Professor Snape immediately."

All Harry could do was nod his head at her. He already felt so anxious that he wasn't sure he would be able to eat anything, but he decided he should at least try. With no small amount of trepidation, he reached for the piece of toast. Experience over the years had told him that it would be the safest choice to start with. As he nibbled at the corner of the bread, Professor Snape took the chair opposite his and pulled out a rolled up copy of _The Daily Prophet_ from within his robe pocket. As he flicked the paper open and started to read, Harry felt a little of his anxiety leave him now that he knew he wouldn't be stared at while he ate.

Harry managed the toast alright, even though his stomach was aching the entire time. But dry toast was hard to choke down, even at the best of times, and Harry grabbed up his pumpkin juice to wash it all down. And therein lay his mistake. After a few refreshing gulps of the cold liquid, his stomach seemed to cramp up all at once, and he jerked up out of his seat, frantically looking for a garbage bin or something that he could use for what he knew was coming.

Severus was out of his seat just as quickly though, and stepping over the blanket that had fallen from Harry's shoulders, he stooped down to where the boy had bent down to the floor, his eyes and mouth watering, and his throat working in an effort of delaying the inevitable.

Severus used one arm to hoist the thin body up some, enough so that with his free hand he could prop the lip of a potions vial to the boy's lips.

"Harry, I need you to take this potion."

But the boy's eyes were closed, and he shook his head in refusal.

By now, Madam Pomfrey had made it back into the room carrying a small waste bin.

"You must, Harry. Take the potion. It will help."

Harry struggled out an answer. "No, it wo-"

But before the sentence could be completed, the small amount he had eaten came rushing out, even before madam Pomfrey could get the bin under him all the way, and vomit splattered on the floor and onto his arms as he frantically grabbed at the bin to bring it close enough to catch the rest as he heaved and heaved.

Madam Pomfrey looked on with a grimace of regret for the boy, as Professor Snape took a few steps back to avoid the small puddle of sick that had almost hit his shoes a moment before. The two shared a look, unbeknownst to Harry, and with a nod, Madam Pomfrey left the room to make the necessary arrangements.

When the cramps finally stopped, and Harry's stomach stopped feeling as if it was trying to turn inside out, he feebly tried to get up from his stooped over position on the floor. Seeing the boy struggle to rise, Professor Snape reached down, grabbed the boy near his elbow and helped to lift him up and then led him over to the bed.

Harry tried to sink down onto the soft bedding, his body weakened by this latest ordeal, but his professor stopped his decent with the still present hand on his elbow.

"Just a moment more, and you can rest."

Confused, Harry looked up, only to see the man pull his wand and aim it at Harry's chest. Before he had time to worry about what the man was doing, Severus had already murmured a spell, and Harry watched as the bits of vomit clinging to his clothes seemed to evaporate into thin air.

With a sigh of relief, Harry thanked the man and then laid down.

oOoOoOoOoOoOoO

Harry must not have realized how tired he was, because the next thing he knew, he was awakened by the sound of men's voices softly discussing something from the other side of the closed door. Taking a look around, Harry could tell that at least a few hours had passed, according to how the stream of light was now coming through the window at a completely new angle. As his eyes took in his surroundings, he noticed that the mess he had made on the floor had been completely cleaned up, and the tray that had been sitting on the table was gone as well. Lastly, he glanced down at himself, and noticed that someone had tucked him into bed properly, and a testing wiggle of his toes proved that they had removed his shoes as well.

And as odd as all of that was, Harry couldn't help but to think it was even odder that it was probably Professor Snape who had done it.

Glancing around, Harry noticed his glasses on the small table where his breakfast tray had originally sat, but felt too comfortable and warm to bother getting up to retrieve them. It suddenly occurred to him that the voices that had first awakened him had now stopped, and he turned his head in the direction of the door as he heard it start to open.

He had expected Professor Snape, but the man who entered was someone different. The stranger noticed Harry squinting his eyes at him, and after a quick scan of the room, he located Harry's glasses and handed them to him with a, "Here you go, lad."

Harry slid his glasses into place and was finally able to get a good look at the newcomer. This man seemed much older than Snape, judging by his grey hair, and Harry could see that he had kind looking blue eyes behind his brown framed glasses. He was carrying a very non-magical looking medical bag, but what struck Harry as odd was the fact that the man didn't wear wizarding robes over his clothes, but rather, he was wearing what looked like a white lab coat.

It was at this point that Severus and Madam Pomfrey made their way into the room as well; and as they closed the door behind them, Harry felt a jolt of nervousness rush through him. The mediwitch decided she should be the one to make the introductions.

"Harry, I would like you to meet a friend of mine. His name is Dr. Stiner and I've asked him here to help today because, well, frankly, dear, the procedure we'll be doing is much more common among muggles, and that is his expertise." And with a smile, she allowed Dr. Stiner to speak at last.

"Hello, Harry." The man was smiling and held out his hand for Harry to shake, and Harry almost refused to do so, knowing why the man was there and already resenting him for it. But Harry shook his hand regardless.

"As Madam Pomfrey has said, I am a friend of hers. And she says my expertise is muggle medicine, but that is because I am a squib, so I have a medical practice that treats muggles. Therefore, I know all about magic, but you won't see me doing any. Alright?"

The man didn't really seem to be expecting a response because a second later, he was talking again.

"As she said, my name is Dr. Stiner, but many of my patients just call me Dr. Will, so you just call me whatever you're comfortable with."

Even though the man was smiling brightly at him, Harry still couldn't bring himself to say anything, so he remained silent. Harry watched as the man looked over his shoulder at Madam Pomfrey and gave her a little nod, and with that she left the room. Harry thought it odd, but before he could ask what was going on, Dr. Stiner pulled one of the wooden chairs over to the side of Harry's bed and had sat down, placing his medical bag on the floor at his feet before addressing Harry again.

"I understand that Professor Snape has already spoken to you about what we'll be doing?"

At this, Harry looked over the man's shoulder to where Snape was standing, and the professor must have read the need in Harry's eyes, because a second later, the man paced over to the opposite side of the bed from the doctor, bringing the only other empty chair along with him, and he sat down near the head of the bed. Feeling a little reassured, Harry finally answered the man.

"Yes, Sir. He told me I had to have a feeding tube if I threw up again."

"Alright," the doctor answered, "well, first-"

"But I don't want one," Harry blurted out. It somehow felt important to him that the man know how he felt about this situation.

"I understand how you feel son, but it needs to be done."

Starting to get upset and even more nervous now, Harry rudely mumbled out, "I'm not your son."

Professor Snape had opened his mouth to chastise Harry for his rudeness, but the doctor held his hand up to halt him before he could say anything, and then turned his focus back to Harry.

"Alright, Harry." The man tried to pat Harry's leg in what he assumed would be a calming gesture, but Harry jerked his leg to the side so that the man's hand only landed on the rumpled blanket. He slowly slid his hand back into his lap and addressed Harry again.

"Harry, I know you're scared-"

"I'm not scared!" Harry couldn't help but raise his voice. His emotions were starting to get the better of him again.

"Alright, you're not scared. But I'm sure you must be feeling at least a little nervous; I know I would be if I were in your shoes."

Harry didn't protest again, so the man went one.

"It's alright to be nervous. You can even be scared if you want to be. No one here will think any less of you for it, I assure you. I know you've had a rough time of things lately, but I am hopeful that this will be the first step in your recovery."

Harry couldn't help but scowl a little. The way the man talked, he was making it all sound like the things that had happened to him was a big deal, like something terrible had happened to him if he needed to 'recover'. But as far as Harry was concerned, it was just more of the same old crap he'd always had to deal with, only this time, he didn't hide it well enough, and people found out.

Harry was suddenly shocked out of his depressing thoughts when the half of the bed his upper body was laying on began to move upward until the mattress was bent in the middle at an angle that made it just right for Harry to lean against, almost as if the bed had turned into a large comfortable chair. He looked around for the cause and turned just in time to see Severus slide his wand back into his sleeve.

"Thank you, Professor," Dr. Stiner said. "Would you mind letting Poppy know I'm ready?"

Severus stood to make his way to the door, but as Harry realized what was soon to happen, he had to confess to himself that he was more than scared; he was terrified. And he didn't want to be left alone with Dr. Stiner. He started to leap out of bed to follow, but Snape stopped him before he could get more than a single leg out of the bed.

"Harry, I'll be back in just a moment. I want you to wait here for me. Will you do that?"

After a few seconds pause, Harry reluctantly nodded and slowly pulled his leg back under the covers as Severus left the room.

"Your professor and Madam Pomfrey will be bringing in the supplies we'll need in order to place the feeding tube, Harry. I raised the bed to make it a little easier to do, and we'll need to keep it raised until your stomach empties of the nutrient mix we'll be using."

Dr. Stiner rummaged about in his medical bag before pulling out a silver colored can with a very plain looking label on it. Showing it to Harry, he said, "This is what will go into the feeding tube. It is a thin liquid, so it shouldn't sit too heavy in your stomach, but it is full of the vitamins, minerals, and calories you'll need to start putting some weight back on."

The door opened again, and Professor Snape returned, along with Madam Pomfrey, who was carrying a tray stacked with various things that Harry couldn't identify from where he sat on the bed. He watched as the Mediwitch began to organize the items on the small table across from his bed as Dr. Stiner continued to explain the process; however, Harry was only half listening. He kept turning his gaze over to the table to see what was on it. Dr. Stiner must have asked Professor Snape to talk to him instead, because a couple minutes later, Snape slid his chair directly into Harry's line of sight and took over the explanation as soon as he had captured Harry's attention.

"Harry, it is very important that when he starts to put the tube in, you stay calm and relaxed, and try not to move. When you feel the tube at the back of your throat, you'll need to start sipping the water. Just keep swallowing the water until the tube is in place. And if you feel like you need a small break and want him to stop for a few moments, I want you to raise your hand. Do you understand?"

"Yes, Sir."

"Good," Snape answered him pragmatically. "Now, do you have any questions?"

"Why do I have to do this," Harry began to whine. He knew he was old enough to know better, but he couldn't help the last minute plea for them to change their mind. "Please, let me try to eat something else. I'll try harder. I won't throw up again, I promise. Let me at least try!"

With a sigh of exasperation, Severus answered him as out of the corner of his eye, he could see Dr. Stiner and Madam Pomfrey start to carry the small table laden with supplies over to the side of Harry's bed.

"Harry, you know good and well that you cannot stop yourself from throwing up merely through will power."

"But-" Harry began, but Severus spoke over him.

" 'But' nothing. This is going to happen, and you're going to be brave like a proper Gryffindor and meet this challenge head on."

"But I'm not brave, and I don't want to do this. Can't we at least put it off until tomorrow, maybe?"

With a clunk, the table was positioned into place, Madam Pomfrey left the room, and Dr. Stiner started to put on some rubber gloves. Severus could see the mounting panic and, again, tried to calm him.

"Harry, I'll be here while he does it. You won't be alone."

"I won't?" Severus could hear the young child-like frailty in the voice, and against all his better judgment, found himself offering his hand to Harry, who as soon as he saw it, snatched hold of it and squeezed. All indecision on whether it was right to have offered his hand like that melted away as a noticeable amount of tension slowly bled away from Harry's body.

"Alright, then," Dr. Stiner announced, "Let's get started. Harry, here's your cup of water. I've already put a straw in it for you. It'll be your job to hold that cup, and when you feel the tube at the back of your throat, sip the water through the straw."

He held it out for Harry to take, and as soon as he did, he went about deciding which nostril to place the tube in. He came to a decision and then turned around to open the package of tubing he would use.

Severus felt Harry squeeze his hand even harder as the doctor turned back around with the tubing in hand. As Dr. Stiner brought the tubing close to Harry's face he flinched hard.

"I'm only putting a measurement on the tubing, Harry."

This time, Harry didn't flinch away as the man held the tubing to the side of Harry's face and then, again, to Harry's chest, making a measurement on the tubing with a permanent marker he had in his pocket. He then grabbed a towel that had been sitting with the rest of the supplies and spread it over Harry's chest.

The next thing he knew, the man was rearranging Harry's pillow until it was tucked under Harry's head in such a way that his chin was practically touching his chest. It was a slightly uncomfortable position, and when Harry reached for the pillow to move it, Snape grabbed his hand and lowered it.

"No Harry. He put it that way on purpose."

With trepidation, Harry strained trying to see what Dr. Stiner was doing. The man was now coating the end of the tube with some shiny looking gel. When he was done, he turned back to face Harry.

"Everything's ready. Harry, I've coated the end of the tubing with some special lubrication that will help numb you as we go so it shouldn't be too uncomfortable. Now, try to stay still for me."

But as the man's hand drew nearer to his face, Harry again flinched away.

"Harry," Dr. Stiner stated, "it's really important that you be still. If you jump around too much, it will be harder to put the tube in correctly. Understand?"

"Yeah." Harry answered in a very high pitched voice that spoke volumes to the Potions Master. The boy was well and truly terrified. He sat Harry's water in the boy's lap, in the crook of his legs where it would be least likely to spill, but still be close enough to grab when it was needed. Then he grabbed Harry's other hand in his free one and motioned with his head for Dr. Stiner to try again.

As the hand approached again, Harry slammed his eyes shut so he wouldn't have to watch. He even managed not to jump at the first small touch to the skin right under his nose. As he felt the weird sensation of something pushing its way in, he was glad to note that it didn't really hurt, but still, he could feel the thing sliding in, pushing its way through, and he suddenly couldn't stay still. The sensation was so foreign and wrong that he wanted desperately for it to stop. He tried to reach up to jerk a hand up to yank the invading thing out, but Snape had both of his hands clasped tightly within his own and he wouldn't let go, no matter how much Harry tugged.

"Stop! I want you to stop!" As Harry yelled, he kicked at Dr. Stiner, knocking one of the man's arms away from him, and in the process, spilling the cup of water that had been in Harry's lap all over the bed.

To Dr. Stiner's credit, the man stayed calm, and even as Harry started to thrash his head a bit, he was able to keep a hand on the tubing at all times, preventing Harry from pulling it out again.

"Harry," the doctor tried several times to get the boy's attention. "HARRY!"

Harry stilled, but his harsh panting still sounded loud in the room.

"Harry, you're halfway there. All you have left to do is swallow some water as it goes the rest of the way. Can you do that for me?"

"I spilled my water, anyways. So, that means we have to stop."

"Harry," Severus spoke gently and low to him, and Harry found himself calming just from hearing the soothing tone. "Remember when I told you that you could take a small break if you needed to and we would wait until you were ready again to finish?"

"Yes, Sir."

"This is your break Harry. We'll give you a couple minutes to get relaxed again, but then we'll need to finish, alright?"

"Yes, Sir. But I'm all wet."

"I know, Harry, I'll fix that in just a moment. But first you have to promise me that if I let go of your hands, that you won't pull out the tube."

A few seconds went by as Harry obviously struggled with the decision, but finally he muttered out, "I promise."

Severus slowly opened his hands, as if ready to snatch Harry's hands again if the boy made the move to yank out the tube.

With his hands free, Severus made quick work of drying Harry and the bed and refilling the cup of water for Harry. He helped guide Harry's slouched down body back to where he was supposed to be on the bed and then took one of Harry's hands into his own again. The other hand, he pulled over to where the cup of water was, and Harry grabbed it in a firm grip as if to steel himself for what was to come.

"Are we ready to try again?" Dr. Stiner asked.

Harry raised the cup up and placed the straw between his lips by way of an answer, and Severus felt the need to tell Harry, "Good. I'm proud of you."

Harry's eyes shot to meet Severus', and the man could instantly tell that it was something the boy had rarely, if ever, heard. Then the boy took a deep breath, mumbled out "I'm ready" from around the straw, and then closed his eyes as he started sipping the water.

Dr. Stiner started pushing the tube the rest of the way down, and despite Harry gagging a little during that part of it, moments later it was done and over with.

As soon as Severus took the cup out of Harry's hand so that the doctor could put it on the table, Harry raised that hand to swipe away the tears that had been brought about when his eyes had watered. Dr. Stiner had explained that it was a natural occurrence for that to happen when someone got a feeding tube placed; the eyes watered in response to the gagging sensation. So, Harry didn't feel too self-conscious about it.

The doctor made quick work of checking to make sure the tube was in right with his stethoscope, and then he attached the tubing to a bag filled with the nutrient mix, which was then hung on a pole that extended upright from the framing at the head of the bed.

All in all, Harry decided it wasn't as bad as he thought it would be, but it sure wasn't as easy as the doctor had implied it would be either. Harry scratched at the tape securing the tube to his cheek as he watched Professor Snape help Dr. Stiner gather his supplies. Moments later, they shook hands, and then the doctor was gone after a quick wave good bye to Harry as well. Truthfully, Harry would prefer to never see Dr. Stiner again. Yes, he had been nice, but Harry didn't think he'd ever be able to look at the man again without remembering this experience, and all in all, he would much rather pretend it had never happened.


End file.
